


a witch in wicker park

by horror_business



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mickey is just a soft witch boy okay???, Suicide Attempt Mention, Witch!Mickey, in depth discussion of bipolar disorder, plant nerd!Ian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-03-28 20:56:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 56,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13912062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horror_business/pseuds/horror_business
Summary: Mickey Milkovich was born with a rare gift, a gift that any witch would be happy to call their own. With one well placed brush of his thumb, a plant or flower of his choosing would flourish and bloom to maturity in the blink of an eye. When the death of his mother triggers the loss of his magnificent gift, he buries his power deep inside himself for years until the approaching Spring Equinox inspires him to make some changes in his life -- in more ways than one.





	1. the peony incident.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends!! Long time no post, I know. My bad. I started writing this angsty multichapter and got four chapters in and had to stop to write this piece. I needed something new and fresh, something I had never written before that would excite me and this was that piece!!
> 
> A few things before we start!!  
> \- I do not practice witchcraft (though I would love to, I'm just lazy) so all of this is based on research and probably isn't an accurate portrayal of practices!  
> \- I mix practical witchcraft and fantastical witchcraft together.  
> \- All the spells and rituals in this fic are real and taken from [this](https://www.barnesandnoble.com/p/spellcasting-for-beginners-michael-furie/1111511913/2688923532785?st=PLA&sid=BNB_DRS_New+Marketplace+Shopping+Books_00000000&2sid=Google_&sourceId=PLGoP164949&gclid=CjwKCAiA24PVBRBvEiwAyBxf-Rod_0WnmQLYwLQsadcUWz7gMey5qaeIp1G3A6sHNWAekgsnwnVSuhoCOOgQAvD_BwE) book.  
> \- **m** other = Mickey's mom. **M** other = Mother Earth.
> 
> I think that's all, let's go!

The moonlight was shining bright through the trees, pockets of light illuminating whole sections of the forest floor in a soft white glow. Mickey was sitting on the ground, his hands and feet dug deep into the moss until dirt embedded itself under his fingernails and between his toes, eyes closed and head tilted back as he breathed in deep. He was naked, absolutely nothing coming between him and the forest.  
  
The river ran nearby, soothing and peaceful, the sound of splashes and frogs croaking rang out like a song to accompany the crickets chirping in the tall grass and the rustle of leaves during a gentle breeze.  
  
Mickey laid down on his back, picking up a chunk of moss and smearing the dirt over his chest and stomach, digging his feet into the ground even more. The moss started to rise up his legs, covering his calves and thighs in no time, shrouding him underneath the moist soil and lush green. Vines started to grow up his arms and chest, snaking around his upper body, the leaves of ivy patting against his cheeks in a gentle hello.  
  
Mickey chuckled, eyes opening to look at the twinkling stars through the leaves, the moss climbing higher and higher and teaming up with the ivy to cover him completely. He could feel the forest, could feel the water rushing nearby as if he was standing in the cool stream, could feel the tree roots slowly expanding to reach out in greeting, too.  
  
In the corner of his vision he started to see a faint green light, the strength of it getting brighter and brighter with each pulse of energy. He could feel that, too, that glow tingling through his extremities and making a home for itself in his thumb.  
  
He glanced over and sure enough his thumb was beaming like a neon light in the night, casting his whole section of the forest in a calming green glow. Mickey’s smile grew much like the vines encasing his body and shined brighter than his thumb.  
  
He placed the pad of his thumb against the moss covered ground, the light leaking out of his thumb and spreading through the forest ground as quick as lightning, acting like veins in the heart of the forest. The forest sighed in gratitude.  
  
A rose sprung up once he lifted his thumb, growing tall and thorny, blooming beautifully in the moonlight, soft petals glistening with morning dew already. Mickey brought his thumb up to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss on the knuckle, feeling the warmth and life bleeding onto his lips and tongue.  
  
He hummed and closed his eyes again, focusing on soaking up every ounce of energy the forest was willing to give, knowing that Mickey would pay it back in kind. He felt a gentle fluttering on his cheek, soft and soothing but light enough to be a bit ticklish. He thought it was the vines saying hello again, but the rhythmic tapping didn’t feel like his vines and it was starting to irritate his placid body.  
  
A loud crash rang out through the forest, glass shattering and a horn blaring and Mickey’s eyes snapped open in a flash, the butterfly flying off his cheek in a panic. It was bright as the sun shined through his bedroom windows, bouncing off the white walls and piercing into Mickey’s tired eyes.  
  
It was a dream, his thumb throbbing with the memory. Mickey groaned, reaching up to rub his eyes with his balled up fists, pulling them away from his face and noting through bleary eyes that his thumb was the same shade of dull green that it’s been for twelve years, looking more like an unfortunate case of gangrene than the fabled green thumb of a forest witch.  
  
Mickey sighed and sat up, twisting around to look out the window to see the car crash that invaded his pleasant dreaming, the occupants now out on the street and screaming at each other over the sound of their horns, adding to the cacophony. He cracked his back, standing up and stretching his arms over his head, groaning as his muscles unfurled from their relaxed state.    
  
He walked to the bathroom right outside his bedroom door, lifting the toilet seat up as he hooked his fingers into the band of his boxers. He turned his head to the right towards the tub, eyebrows raised incredulously.  
  
“Hey Marcus, maybe wanna look away while I do this? I don’t watch you when you piss,” he said to the toad sitting on the edge of the porcelain pond. The only response Mickey got was the blinking of the toads eyes and a small croak as it hopped into the water with a splash, the ripples reaching out and causing the lily pads nearby to sway back and forth.  
  
Mickey rolled his eyes but continued on without the audience. A bee buzzed over his head, landing on one of the pink hibiscus plants on the window sill, burrowing itself into the lush pollen. Mickey smiled at the small insect before flushing the toilet and walking out into the vibrant living room.  
  
His apartment was unlike any other apartment in Chicago. It was all brick except for the dividing walls, large windows spanning the entirety of one wall, light flooding in through the thin glass to warm the apartment, unhindered by shades or drapes. The windows were the main selling point for Mickey when he was apartment hunting, he needed a space with plenty of natural light and warmth.  
  
Flowers and plants took up every inch of available space in the apartment that wasn’t occupied by furniture, vines spreading along the grout in the brick to crawl up every wall. Pruned plants hung upside down on a clothesline in front of one window, drying in preparation to be ground down to dust and placed in carefully marked glass jars on the bookshelf. There were different herbs growing in their respective pots and yeah, a marijuana plant or three were scattered amongst the others as well.

Insects of all kinds made a home for themselves here, feeling the energy emanating from the top floor of this remodeled factory and floating in through the windows left open in greeting. Ladybugs, dragonflies, butterflies, bees, any insect at all was welcome here. Mickey didn’t discriminate, even mosquitoes and roaches could find solace here. A bird or two even finding their way into this little pop of nature buried deep in a concrete metropolis.  
  
This was Mickey’s home, his little makeshift forest. Every plant was considered a living, breathing member of the household, every cell and chloroplast as vital as the next. He tended to them like children, nurturing them with the gentle hand of a new parent, returning the energy they gave him with every opportunity.  
  
Mickey was a witch, there was no debating that, even if his powers have been dormant since his mother died.  
  
When he was younger, his thumb glowed bright like in his dream. He had the power to make a plant grow from nothing, roses and sunflowers sprouting from concrete or stone with one well placed push of his thumb. But now, he only had enough power to encourage an already living plant to grow bigger and quicker, to make sure they can sustain themselves even in subpar conditions and he could rejuvenate a plant if it was on its way out. His green thumb had taken on the metaphorical meaning now instead of the literal.  
  
His mother was once a powerful witch, the only one in a long line of Ukrainian witches that was born with the same peculiar gift as Mickey. It was rare; being blessed with the green thumb. Sure, all forest witches had the ability to make things grow quick and with ease, could speak with and commune with the creatures and insects of the forest, but only the ones born with the green thumb could make something grow from nothing.  
  
Mickey’s ancestors had fled from the Ukraine in the early 1500’s when witch hunts were sweeping through Europe with startling popularity. The hysteria plagued the continent for centuries, millions of lives and endless amounts of power burning alive at the stake in the town squares. The Slivka Coven packed up and fled as soon as they heard from a passing bird that their town was next.  
  
They traveled for years until finally settling down in America in the early 1900’s, building a commune for themselves in the woods of Northern Michigan in what is now known as the Porcupine WIlderness State Park. They lived a long and prosperous life there, getting all the energy they needed to sustain themselves for generations from the lush wilderness and the flowing rivers.  
  
Nadezhda Slivka frolicked through that forest for years, placing her thumb anywhere she pleased to make a new friend in an instant. But unlike her family she hungered for more, curious to see what was awaiting her outside the comfort of the forest. She was a child of the seventies, and even though she was hidden away from the world in the woods she witnessed the hippies and wanderers of the new age from her perch upon tree branches with envy.  
  
She was banished from her coven in the late eighties when she was only sixteen years old, caught colluding with a human boy who was hiking through the forest with his family, sharing her sacred gift with unworthy eyes.  
  
Banishment wasn’t something that was discussed lightly, but seeing as her grandmother was one of the Coven Elders, action had to be taken immediately. She was careless, and her thirst for the outside world would soon expose them all and they couldn’t take that risk. Despite her rare gift, the decision had been made and she was to spend the rest of her life in the steel forest known as Chicago.  
  
It was a death sentence for any forest witch, the soul sucking concrete and lung seizing polluted air would zap any natural energy that she would need to survive. The full moons and fresh fallen rain were only enough to sustain enough energy to merely exist, if you could call her new way of life “existing”.  
  
She was scared and alone, starved to the point of looking skeletal. She didn’t have the skills to survive in a place like this, the only life and skills she had known were lost deep in the forests of the North. With each use of her thumb to grow some food in the dead of night vital energy was getting zapped from her body, energy she would never have the resources to restore. Her life expectancy shortened by the day, it’s almost like she could feel the years getting stolen from her as life flowed from her thumb.  
  
Her savior came in the form of Terry Milkovich, whistling like he was summoning a dog when she walked by him, greeting her with a slurred “where you headin’ baby?”  
  
Terry had been the only one to even acknowledge her existence since she was banished a year before. She was starting to feel like she had died months ago and her spirit was doomed to be trapped in this hellscape for eternity. Terry offered food, shelter and twentieth century luxuries that she wasn’t accustomed too; like toilets and television and the ability to have food delivered to your front door.  
  
But all those amenities didn’t come without a price.  
  
For all the good things Terry had done for her, he was not a good man. He was controlling and violent, vile and wicked and she abhorred every single thing about him. But without him she had nothing and no one, she would be dead in a few short months on her own, of this she was sure.  
  
And when Terry put a baby in her belly before she was even eighteen, she was truly doomed.  
  
She was terrified to have children with this man, knowing what the offspring of a forest witch was like in the first few years of life and even after all this time Terry still had no clue about the power his meek and quiet Nadezhda possessed.  
  
Terry was a man who would spit on anyone who even walked a different way than he did, she was horrified to see how he would react if he knew what she was. So she never told him, lied about why her thumb looked the way it did and why her eyes literally twinkled when the beams of the moon grazed across her face. Rituals and spells fell to the wayside, gardening and communing with nature became a rare luxury, things she once took for granted she now longed for with a deep ache.  
  
The moon must have felt her worry-filled pleas because her secret remained just that, a secret. Luckily enough all three of her children were beautiful and healthy and fully human, none of those boys showing any indication that they inherited even an ounce of her gift.  
  
Her luck ran out when she gave birth to her fourth child, Mikhailo. He came out of the womb quiet as a mouse, none of the usual screaming that accompanies the birth of a human child. His eyes were unnaturally blue, hair already thick and blacker than night.  
  
And his tiny thumb glowing brighter than any light in all of Chicagoland.  
  
The doctors were at a loss for words and begged Nadezhda to do further testing, but she refused, signing out of the hospital as soon as she was able, hugging her son tight and reverently to her chest. She knew what he was and the tears that pooled from joy in the corners of her eyes glistened like the morning dew on a forest rose.  
  
Terry wasn’t the smartest man and Nadezhda was able to brush off Mickey’s peculiarities as an unfortunate hereditary quirk. But as the years moved on it grew harder and harder to keep Mickey’s gifts from being noticed.  
  
The green thumb of a forest witch was uncontrollable and unpredictable when they were children, the energy flowing unhindered and freely through Mickey’s body, itching to be used and noticed. Anywhere he touched, whether he had the intention to or not, something would start growing. Mickey was partial to bleeding hearts, those pesky vines and beautiful pink buds sprouting up with every brush of his thumb.  
  
Nadezhda tried to ignore the irony.  
  
Mickey was strong, his powers stronger than she anticipated a half human witch to possess and it was dangerous to have such unbridled power and energy flowing through that house.  
  
Raising a forest witch was difficult enough hidden deep in the woods, but raising a forest witch in the heart of the city with a bloodhound for a father was even tougher. Mickey was a vibrant child, alert and happy, his energy endless and fascinating as much as it was exhausting. He had a thirst for life and would rarely let himself be contained indoors.  
  
He was always outside, rolling around in the dirt in the empty lot next to their house or laughing and talking to the weeds growing through the cracks in the sidewalks or chirping with the birds on the telephone wires. Terry thought he was tapped, all of his brothers looking at him like he had two heads, but Nadezhda just looked on with a smile, an ache pounding in her chest that this child didn’t have an entire forest to explore and connect with. Mickey was undoubtedly her favorite son, he even outshined her only daughter born a year later, and it killed her to watch that youthful exuberance disappear day by day.  
  
Terry’s son’s all had to be tough as nails with the ability to breathe fire and he had been molding them since birth with every well placed smack of his hand and insult spit from his lips. He slowly wore his sons down, building them back up in his ideal image. Mickey was tougher to break than the others, he was strong willed and brave, so full of life that it took Terry a long time to fully drain all the light from Mickey’s eyes at the tender age of eight.  
  
But Nadezhda never let that spark disappear completely. She discreetly set up a small nursery in the basement, showing Mickey the proper way to cultivate crops and nurture plants. She wrote down everything she could remember; spells, potions and rituals each getting transcribed into a brand new grimoire for him to study and consult whenever he thought necessary. She was meticulous and rigid, firm but gentle in their training sessions and each day she saw a little bit of that light come back to Mickey’s eyes that his father beat away each evening.  
  
It’s like Terry could sense Mickey’s power, could sniff out the fact that he was different and he did everything he could to make sure Mickey adhered to his strict guidelines to what a Milkovich boy was. He was turning her sweet and vibrant boy into someone cold and distant and she was hoping the beautiful and natural connection to Mother Earth would bring him back.  
  
For years she successfully hid her and Mickey’s power from the family. No one knew of their secret and her thumb was growing dimmer and dimmer as the years rolled on. Only for that color to disappear completely one spring afternoon.  
  
Terry was the orchestrator of a deal gone bust and his supplier was none to happy, thousands of dollars worth of product slipping through their fingers because Terry fucked something up. The supplier cut him loose, couldn’t risk Terry losing him good business any further.  
  
Terry was apocalyptic, coming home that night and destroying the house, screaming at the children and holding Nadezhda against the wall by her throat when she told him to calm down, that they would figure it out. She had no choice but to reveal her powers, for the sake of her family she _had_ too.  
  
She brought Terry down to the basement, Mickey screaming and clutching at her legs to keep him away from there. Terry put a stop to that behavior with one blood curdling growl. He was confused and irate, outraged that her grand scheme to help the family was some fucking organic produce stand. His anger burned hotter than it did upstairs in front of the children and through tears and a bloody lip she showed him.  
  
A marijuana plant bloomed fast and big, the buds supple and fragrant, the crystals glistening through the dull light coming in through the window and Terry’s jaw hit the floor. She exposed herself but was quick to denounce that Mickey had any ounce of power flowing through his little body and that the color of his thumb was just that - a color. Terry could abuse her power but she would be damned if he did the same to her baby.  
  
Terry was unrelenting after that; money hungry for the quick turnover of product-to-profit he demanded she grow more and more, demanded that she grow more than her body was capable of producing. He was uncaring to his wife’s plight, her speech about how draining this was of vital energy fell on deaf ears, her life flowing through her thumb and fattening her husband's pockets with a different kind of green.  
  
His greed was what killed her. With Terry’s dispensary flourishing and alive in the basement she passed away peacefully in her sleep with Mickey’s name on her tongue.  
  
And in losing her, Mickey lost a piece of himself.  
  
Mickey was the one that found her, sprinting home from school and slamming through the door to show his mom the salamander he found by a creek on his walk home. He thought she was sleeping, climbed right up beside her on the bed, muddy salamander in hand as he rambled about where he found him and how cool the creek was and how he would have to show her some day.  
  
But she stayed silent, arms unmoving at her side, a pleasant smile still on her face. Mickey shook her back and forth, abandoning the salamander completely as he started screaming her name, getting louder and louder the longer she was silent.  
  
He pushed his thumb against her chest over her heart, pressing and pressing in an attempt to deposit the life that flowed through him back into her. He wept violently, tears streaming down his cheeks and rolling off the tip of his nose in small raindrops, splashing silently against the wood of the floorboards as his wails of “ _Mama!”_ fell on deaf ears.  
  
All of a sudden stalks of vibrant green and small round leaves started crawling out through the cracks, vines snaking up along Mickey’s legs and slithering up the bedsheets, softly caressing Nadezhda’s cheek in farewell. Flowers started to grow on the floor, hibiscus and daisies and all sorts of Nadezhda’s favorite flowers sprouting up wherever his tears fell, nourishing their growth through his grief.  
  
Mickey felt it as soon as the vines retreated, slithering down to settle into the dirt of the basement floor once again. He felt her energy dissipate completely, leaving the room almost like a cool gust of air through an open window on a balmy summer day.  
  
His thumb never glowed again after that day, his energy flying out the window with his mother; to guide her, to keep her company on her long journey to the afterlife.  
  
Mickey stopped using his powers completely in the coming years, aided in the dismissal of his identity by the abandonment of his green thumb. He tried for a few months after her death to keep practicing, to read the grimoire she left behind for him but it was all too painful to keep dragging up these memories and to read her words on the page. He was too young to practice by himself without someone to guide him, the lack of confidence showed with every blunder of a ritual and every smolder of a potion brewed too long.  
  
Being half human, he didn’t really need nature to survive and the emptiness he felt in his veins was just from his shitty home life, or so he kept telling himself.  
  
It didn’t take long for Terry to mold Mickey perfectly now that his protective mother was out of the picture and Mickey succumbed quicker than he ever would have if she was still around. But the fact was that she was gone and Mickey could never make her proud again. Terry became his only source of parental validation and oh, how he had craved it after losing it.  
  
Mickey closed himself off, killed all that softness and life that his mother once praised him for and resurrected the anger and violence he inherited from his father. He did whatever Terry asked of him, running drugs and guns and hitting people with baseball bats in the name of collection and never once thought about the powers he once possessed and the happiness he once felt.  
  
His moss colored thumb was a constant reminder of everything he had lost, everything he had given up, so he tattooed his knuckles in hopes to draw the focus off of what felt like a dead appendage. And if anyone mentioned how freaky his thumb looked, the reminder inked into his curled fists would wipe the look off their face with one swift punch.  
  
Mickey knew he was different from the rest of his family, in more ways than one. He didn’t just deviate from the Milkovich norm because of the magical blood coursing through him and he knew with absolute certainty that his dad would prefer to have a witch for a son than a fucking faggot. Mickey was as dismissive with that fact about himself as he was about his magical roots.  
  
So he overcompensated, he buried his emotions and his feelings under rock and brimstone, buried them so deep that not even his once functioning thumb would be able to grow something from the concrete and ash. He smoked, he drank, he took pills and snorted cocaine. He fought, he fucked women, he snarled and bit like a rabid dog and the soft son of a once strong forest witch had finally turned into the South Side piece of shit that everyone always said he would be.  
  
For years he allowed his misery to eat away at him and had capitulated to the fact that this was his life, that this is how it was going to be until he died, his father wouldn’t allow anything different and Mickey felt like he was slowly suffocating. Thorns were tearing at his insides, begging to be noticed, begging to be free, demanding that he release his powers and Mickey would ignore the agony ripping at his organs and put on a brave face every morning.  
  
The years worth of misery he was forced to choke down all came to head one morning. He had been wandering around the night before, blackout drunk and fumbling in a dark alley with another man, rubbing against each other and moaning softly into the hot summer air. Mickey never made it home that night, passing out under a tree in a nearby park, hand curled around the switchblade in his pocket as he slept.  
  
He woke up to the feeling of rain splattering across his face, eyes blinking open wearily and brows creased in agitation as he wiped the moisture from his forehead. It felt like each raindrop fell in exactly the same spot on his forehead, mimicking some kind of fucking water torture and with each painful ping of water came a revelation.  
  
The first revelation was that Mother Earth was pissed the hell off with Mickey, speaking to him through the rain drops and the swaying leaves in a language that only Mickey would be able to understand. She gave him a gift, a truly wonderful and amazing gift and he had ignored it for the last time. Ten years was a hell of a long time to keep Mother waiting.  
  
And fuck, he needed her. He did. He tried to ignore it for so long because the energy he could gather from the Earth wasn’t vital like the oxygen he breathed, it wasn’t necessary to keep him alive like it was for his mother. But, it would make him feel _more_ alive. He was born for something more than just merely existing, all the power and energy that boiled within him had a purpose and Mickey just had to figure out what that purpose was.  
  
Stumbling home that morning he made a promise to himself, a promise to the Earth and a promise to his mother that he wouldn’t neglect who he was any longer.  
  
He tore up the floorboards in his bedroom, not sure under which plank of wood he had hidden the grimoire all those years ago. It was nothing more than a black and white composition notebook, but laying his eyes on it again for the first time in ten years had Mickey choking back tears, throat tight and heart hammering against his ribcage. He sat back on his heels as he pulled the grimoire from underneath the floorboards, running his fingers over the cover reverently and leaving tracks through the dust in their wake.  
  
Mickey held the book to his chest, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath in through his nose as he prepared himself, a tear or two leaking down his cheeks that he furiously wiped away with a shrug of his shoulder. He cracked the grimoire open, flipping through the various pages to see his mother’s handwriting and gorgeous drawings. Nadezhda’s handwriting had always been beautiful; crisp and neat but also bubbly and fun and it brought a smile to his face to see that his mother’s personality was perfectly transcribed through ink on blue lined paper.  
  
He spent a few hours just reading through the grimoire, trying to remember everything his mother had taught him in the few short years that they had together, robbed of a stronger and longer lasting relationship with this wonderful woman because of his shitstain of a father. Mickey was going to make her proud, adamant that he was going to grow into the witch she had always envisioned him to be.  
  
The next day Mickey came back from lifting a few seeds and bulbs from a local nursery. Not the most noble way to go about things but fuck it, there wasn’t any other witch here to show him the correct way to practice so he was going to have to do things the Mickey way. He crashed into the basement and if the memories from the grimoire didn’t pain him enough, seeing the devastation that was once and beautiful flourishing piece of nature almost hurt enough to bring him to his knees.  
  
Luckily, all the pots and troughs and soil that previously housed marijuana plants were still down there and he spent hours rejuvenating what was lost. It felt fucking good to have his hands covered in dirt again, soil embedded under his fingernails and smeared across his face as he planted his seeds and bulbs. He felt an energy racing through his veins and a tingle in his fingers that he hadn’t felt in years, power crackling throughout his body as the cut connections started to mend themselves back together.  
  
He flipped through the grimoire, the dirt from his hands staining some of the pages but it only seemed fitting. He found a spell his mother had written down, a spell that would facilitate the speedy growth of plants without the inheritance of a green thumb.  
  
Mickey said the words a few times in his head before clearing his throat and uttering the spell out loud, his voice unsure and a little soft, the wording feeling foreign on his tongue since he couldn’t just say “ fucking grow faster you piece of shit.”  
  
He walked over to the first plant, a small shoot of rosemary, and held his open palms over the small sprout. Closing his eyes, he envisioned the plant flourishing and alive, the supple purple flowers in full bloom amongst the sprigs of green.  
  
“From seed to shoot to bud. Your journey paved with magic power. Grow strong and healthy, stretch high above, root and stem and leaf and flower,” he uttered, his palms tingling with energy and he was positive that he saw the tiny sapling grow a little bit right before his eyes. He moved on and said the spell over every new plant, transferring his energy and love back to nature.  
  
Exhausted, sweaty and covered in grime, Mickey was thoroughly satisfied with his progress for the day. His heart felt lighter, his hands felt cleaner despite the dirt smeared over them and if his thumb throbbed a little bit in appreciation that was nobody's goddamn business.  
  
The next morning the first thing he did was walk down into the basement. Bleary eyed and disoriented that last thing he expected to see was a flourishing garden. He blinked in surprise a few times, making sure he wasn’t still dreaming as the lush and vibrant hues of green glowed in welcome. He laughed almost hysterically as he made his way closer to the plants, gently touching the leaves between his fingers, leaning in to smell the freshly bloomed flowers, astounded that even after all these years his powers hadn’t abandoned him at all and were just itching to be put to use again.  
  
That was almost three years ago now and his powers have magnified tenfold since that day, though his thumb still remains that lifeless dull green. At least he didn’t live in that shithole of a house with his father anymore. The negative energy and ideals that had trapped Mickey for so long wouldn’t be a good place for him to nurture and grow his powers. As soon as he squirreled away enough money from working at a pizza place he jumped ship and rented out this tiny apartment far away from his father and only felt a small pang of regret for leaving his sister behind.  
  
But no one understood. No one in the Milkovich house could comprehend the power and energy that thrummed through Mickey and to stay in that house would eventually end in death, just like it did with his mother and he hasn’t looked back since.  
  
Today was a special day and Mickey had a lot of work to do before midnight and if he wasn’t such a shitty witch he would have had all his tools prepared already. But...Mickey was Mickey, and no amount of practice or strict training would change the fact that he was just downright messy when it came to his practices and organization. His altar was constantly cluttered and caked over with dried patches of wax, his grimoire more of a surface for rolling joints and blunts than for record keeping, his work surfaces peppered with ash from his incense and he never did get around to picking up the mess from that batch of love oil he completely butchered.  
  
But that was neither here nor there, he had to get his ass moving down to his favorite Nursery to pick up some soil and seeds. Tonight was the Spring Equinox and this event was important to a witch for various reasons; a time to reflect on your journey through life thus far and some crap about duality of man and the energies of the world being in perfect balance with each other or whatever. All ideals that Mickey didn’t really care about. What he was choosing to focus on instead was the notion of a new birth.  
  
Even if you weren’t a witch you knew the symbolism of Spring, where everything that had died and decayed during the winter would finally bloom and come to life again. There was a palpable shift in the air that anyone could feel when the first breeze of Spring started whipping through the city and Mickey was going to capitalize on the strong creative energy that came with the Spring Equinox.  
  
He was convinced that this year would be the one, the year where his green thumb would finally awaken from the long slumber it had decided to take and even though Mickey was trapped in the city, celebrating this Equinox would bring him closer to nature and would hopefully ignite the powers laying latent in his body.  
  
He had built a standing vegetable garden up on the roof, spending every not so shitty winter day up there putting the large rectangular box together with his bare hands, splinters littering his fingers and curses flying out of his mouth with every misjudged smash of the hammer.  
  
Mickey’s thought process being that if he spent a decent amount of time planting and cultivating and having his hands smeared with dirt on the Spring Equinox that Mother would pay him back for the energy he was putting in by returning what was lost.  
  
Last night he had placed his protective amulets around the would-be garden in preparation, four small pigeon feathers he had found on the roof charged and energized to ward off any other person who lived here from poking around in Mickey’s sacred garden and taking what wasn’t theirs.  
  
Before he embarked on his trip to the Nursery, he sipped on his calming tea, a joint snug between the fingers that were curled around his mug as he walked around his apartment, watering the appropriate plants before leaving for the day. A bee buzzed past him again and nestled into the small hive that had grew in one of the ceiling corners, a young cardinal that was perched on an open window was watching him with curious eyes, the sounds of Marcus croaking his fucking heart out in the tub could be heard in the background. He felt comfortable and warm here, completely at peace as he leaned in to smell the freshly bloomed calla lilies on the window sill, a smile stretching across his face as the petals softly tapped his cheek in good morning.  
  
The landlord would have a heart attack if they saw what had become of this newly renovated modern apartment, but luckily Mickey knew the correct spells and wards to keep in place so that nosey bitch never got the opportunity to see what went on up here.  
  
It was his own personal paradise and it was about to get a lot brighter with the coming of Spring.  
  
An hour later he found himself almost tripping off the steps of the bus in his anticipation to get into the Nursery. He loved it here, loved the energy and the power that pulsed through this place, the closest he would get to the wilderness in this city outside the comfort of his apartment. The Nursery wasn’t extremely busy which came as a relief, Mickey didn’t drink enough calming tea to deal with a crowded as fuck Nursery filled with dipshits who had no idea what they were doing.  
  
He could spend hours here, strolling around the greenhouses with a serene smile plastered on his face, gently cupping leaves and petals between his fingers and digging his fingers into the lush dirt. He could feel the love and care that went into keeping this Nursery running, the plants thankful to be alive and thriving, waiting and anticipating the opportunity to get taken to a real garden to dig their roots deep into the Earth. Mickey knew the feeling.  
  
Mickey grabbed a cart, his fingers curling around the handle in excitement as he pushed his way leisurely through the Nursery. He knew where everything was that he had to grab, but he loved to just take his time to browse and really connect to the energy flowing around like untamed ping pong balls.  
  
Not for the first time he wondered how wonderful and freeing it would be to sit in the forest, his dream from earlier coming back to him with startling clarity. How he longed to swim in the running streams and touch the rough bark of the trees, aching for the comfort that comes from breathing in the isolation in the middle of the forest.  
  
For now, the Nursery was good enough.  
  
He spent a long time just wandering around, taking inventory of some of the newer plants they’ve cultivated since the last time he was here and looking at the elaborate lawn ornaments and decorations that maybe one day he would get to own. He had four bags of soil in the cart already and was finally moving on to gathering the seeds and bulbs he would need to start his garden when something caught his attention.  
  
A small peony plant was withering away, not completely dead yet, but not strong or big enough to soak up all the nutrients it’s siblings around it were getting. The leaves were turning brown at the tips, the usually smooth surface looking wrinkled and dehydrated, the once vibrant pink of the flower had turned dull and lifeless, the petals limping over in exhaustion and some falling off completely and laying under the flower like lost soldiers. Mickey felt a small pang of empathy shoot through his veins for the little plant.  
  
He walked closer to the peony, turning his head to look around him once or twice to make sure there was no one in the immediate area that could witness what he was about to do. When he was positive the coast was clear, he cupped his hands around the small plastic pot the flower was in, checking his surrounds once more before closing his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose as he pictured the peony flourishing and alive and not the decaying plant that he saw before.  
  
He uttered a small spell under his breath and felt the energy leave through his palms and pulse through the soil, the peony soaking up all the magic that Mickey was willingly giving. He could feel the peony coming back to life, could feel the petals and the leaves growing bigger and brighter than they were before, could feel their gratitude pulsing back up through his palms and tingling through his arms.  
  
“Holy shit,” someone whispered and Mickey jumped back from the peony, crashing his hip into his cart and mumbling a curse under his breath as he already felt his skin start to bruise.  
  
He whipped his head around, coming eye to eye with the fucking redhead that worked here who had never once given Mickey any issues and had actually been extremely helpful in the past. The kid knew his plants, but he was about to become a lot more intimate with them once Mickey buried him in the woods after he fucking killed him.  
  
“You-you,” the kid kept stammering, pointing at the peony and then back towards Mickey while his mouth hung open like a dead fish.    
  
Mickey charged over to the redhead, Ian his name-tag read, and pushed him up against the wall, incriminating soil leaving dirty patches on the kid’s sky blue polo as Mickey gripped onto his shoulders tightly so he wouldn’t move. He placed his forearm across the kid’s throat, putting on a mask he hadn’t worn since he moved out of his father’s house and snarling at the kid with every ounce of anger he could muster.  
  
“You didn’t fuckin’ see anything,” he spit, pushing his forearm into the kid’s throat for emphasis.  
  
Mickey was panicking. He had never been caught before, usually so fucking careful whenever he had to use his powers in public and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do in this situation. He couldn’t let this kid run his mouth, visions of torches and stakes flashing through his head like this was the year fucking sixteen-hundred in Salem. He didn’t have a spell handy for making someone forget something but fuck, his mom definitely had a potion for it written in the grimoire.  
  
Ian’s fingers curled around Mickey’s wrist, moving his arm away from his throat just enough to suck down a gulp of air. He was staring straight into Mickey’s eyes, those mystified green stinging Mickey’s tumultuous blue as he spoke.  
  
“How the fuck did you do that?” Ian said quietly, voice laced with curiosity.  
  
Mickey curled his lip up in what he was hoping was an intimidating manner and not one that would betray the fear he felt racing through his body. He pushed his forearm against Ian’s throat again.  
  
“I didn’t fucking do anything and if you don’t shut the fuck up I’m gonna chop your fucking nuts off and feed ‘em to the Venus Flytrap over there,” Mickey growled, tilting his head towards the plant in question.  
  
Ian gulped, but the smirk spreading across his face wasn’t what Mickey was hoping to see. Ian held his hands up in surrender, causing Mickey to release the pressure on his throat somewhat as he stared at the redhead with suspicion.  
  
“I don’t think my balls are what the Venus Flytrap is into. Beetles and roaches on the other hand…” he paused with a grin, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth before releasing it, “if you could turn me into one of those then by all means,” he finished with a dismissive wave of his hand.  
  
Was this kid fucking _mocking_ him? If there’s one thing Mickey hated more than the stereotypical bullshit witches of movies and television it was when someone underestimated his power and wrath.  
  
He grabbed onto Ian’s dick and balls through his jeans, his trademark sneer now on his face as he squeezed on the wrong side of pleasurable. “I’m not fuckin’ joking, Chuckles. You keep your goddamn mouth shut or you’re gonna be pissing in a bag for the rest of your life.”  
  
Mickey thought he might have felt Ian’s dick twitch a bit in his hand, but maybe his dick was trying to shrivel up into his body to avoid any further damage.  
  
Ian looked properly terrified now, his eyes wide as saucers as his cheeks tinged a little pink. He pushed Mickey away from him finally, reaching down to adjust his sack through his pants.  
  
“You can trust me, Jesus,” he said as he shouldered past Mickey and stood in front of the now flourishing peony. He took a petal delicately between his index finger and thumb, running his thumb along the silky petal a few times.  
  
Mickey watched Ian skeptically, his brow still furrowed down as he chewed on his bottom lip. He cautiously walked over to his carriage, his fingers curling so tightly around the handle his knuckles started turning white. He could use it as a weapon if he needed too.  
  
There was always something about this kid that would draw Mickey in whenever he saw him working. It was almost like he could feel Ian’s love and admiration for nature and plants flowing through him like he was full of magic too. It was the way he looked at them and handled them, the way he would speak about plants and flowers like they were people with their own personalities and quirks and all of that pulled Mickey towards him like they were fucking magnets. It’s not like they were friends, but they would always have small conversations when they ran into each other here (possibly being a touch on the flirtatious side? Wishful thinking,) and those interactions definitely added to the reasons that Mickey loved this place.  
  
“I knew there was something about you, Mickey, I fucking knew it,” Ian whispered in wonder to the plant rather than Mickey, almost like he didn’t even mean to say it at all.  
  
Mickey scoffed. “You don’t know shit, Red.”  
  
“It’s Ian,” he said, turning to look at Mickey before he let go of the peony and crossed his arms across his chest. He looked down at the bags of soil Mickey had in his cart, then back up at Mickey. “How were you planning on getting all this home? Don’t you live like thirty blocks away from here?” Ian asked.  
  
Mickey glared before leaning down to rest his forearms against the handle of the cart. “Not that it’s any of your business, _Ian_ , but I was planning on stealing this cart right here,” he said, tapping the handle twice, “and walking my ass home.”  
  
Ian snorted as he rolled his eyes. “Uh, seeing as I work here,” he said as he pulled on the part of his polo where his name tag was attached, “I would say that is exclusively my business. Stealing company property? I should kick you out right now,” he said with a smirk.  
  
“I’ll fucking kick your ass before you do that,” Mickey responded, but his voice lacked any of the bite it had earlier, the air between them shifting as Mickey backed down from fight mode because there was just something about Ian that was somewhat soothing.    
  
Ian cleared his throat and looked down at the ground real quick, rubbing the back of his neck before looking back up at Mickey, his eyes wide and somewhat hopeful. If Mickey didn’t know any better he would say Ian looked fucking _bashful._  
  
“I um, I get off in like an hour? If you wait around I wouldn’t mind throwing this shit in my car and giving you a ride? We can even get a discount if we pretend that I’m buying it,” Ian said sheepishly as he glanced away from Mickey again, becoming vastly more interested in the now flourishing peony than Mickey’s face.  
  
Mickey snorted a quick disbelieving laugh, his sarcastic retort dying on his tongue before it reached his lips as he really thought about what Ian just offered. The discount would be nice and the ride back to his apartment would be even nicer, he wouldn’t have to push fifty pounds of shit through the crowded streets of the city and he would get home way sooner than originally planned.  
  
Mickey stood up fully again, shrugging his shoulders as he answered. “Okay,” he said simply, succinctly.  
  
Ian’s head whipped around to stare at Mickey again, a miniscule grin making its way across his lips. “Wait, really?” he asked, his voice taking on a disbelieving lilt.  
  
Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, really,” he said while mocking Ian’s tone, “not gonna pass up a free ride and a fucking discount, this shit’s expensive as fuck,” he said waving his hand towards the cart that was still only filled with soil.  
  
Ian perked up like a puppy, his smile stretching wider like this was the best thing that’s happened to him today. “Alright, cool, I’ll come find you when my shift is up,” he said before he turned and walked the other direction, leaving Mickey alone to commune with the flowers and the now flourishing peony.  
  
He looked towards the flower and asked “what the fuck did I just agree to?” in a whisper and if someone was watching closely enough they would have seen what looked like a little shrug from the peony.  
  
Ian found Mickey roughly an hour later standing with his hands on his hips as he silently debated what size pot he needed to buy to transplant his sage. Ian had taken his work shirt off, a hoodie zipped up over his plain white t-shirt with a backpack slung over one shoulder, hands shoved in to the front pockets of his hoodie.  
  
“You ready to go or do you gotta shop some more?” he asked, his eyes flicking down to Mickey’s full cart.  
  
Mickey sucked on the back of his teeth as he gave Ian the full up and down body scan, looking away once he got to the toes of his shoes and staring at the pots again. “Which pot ya think is the best to grow sage in?” Mickey asked, tilting his chin towards the tower of red ceramic pots.  
  
Ian hummed like he had to think about it before he answered. “Well, the good thing about sage is that it’s really easy to grow fucking anywhere, doesn’t really matter what pot you plant it in. It’s how much you’re looking to grow that will determine the size of the pot. The soil is what really matters with the sage though. They’re kinda fickle like that, they don’t like their roots to get wet, so you need some soil that has really good drainage and doesn’t keep the moisture for too long.”  
  
Mickey, of course, knew all of this already, he just really liked hearing Ian talk about plants and gardening and couldn’t help a small fond smile to creep across his face. He coughed to cover it up, wiping his mouth with the palm of his hand before he looked at the pots, nodding his head a few times.  
  
“I think I’m good for now actually, let’s get outta here,” Mickey said. Ian nodded and came to stand next to Mickey, grabbing the cart from him. “The fuck you doing? I can push the cart myself, thanks” Mickey said, his brow furrowed in irritation.  
  
Ian just chuckled a bit and rolled his eyes, pushing the cart back and forth a few times. “It’s gotta look like I’m buying it, remember? You paying with cash or card?”  
  
“The fuck do I look like to you, a goddamn platinum card carrier? Nah, I got cash. How much you think all this shit’ll cost?” Mickey asked, nodding his chin towards the cart.  
  
Ian looked at everything in the cart, bending forward to move some shit around to get the full inventory of what Mickey was purchasing, Mickey peeking an appreciative glance at Ian’s ass as he did so. “Probably around one-eighty with the discount, if I had to guess?” he said.  
  
Mickey nodded, taking his wallet out of his back pocket and unfolding two bills. Before he handed them over to Ian he put his threatening voice on again, glaring at Ian’s bright green eyes. “Don’t even fuckin’ think about running off with this money, Firecrotch. I guarantee I can run faster than you, don’t care how long your legs are.”  
  
Ian laughed a bit and snatched the money out of Mickey’s hands before he could do anything about it. “Christ, you really don’t trust me at all, huh? I’m not going anywhere with your money, now let’s go,” he said, emphasizing the last word before he started pushing the cart towards the registers as Mickey begrudgingly followed.  
  
For some reason he _did_ actually trust Ian, that much should have been obvious from the fact that he was a still fucking breathing after he saw Mickey use his magic in public. He couldn’t explain why, but everything in his body was telling him to calm down, to back off and relax and his instinct’s were rarely wrong, a witch had to learn to trust their gut.  
  
They checked out quickly, Ian laughing and talking with the girl at the register as Mickey stood behind him with his arms crossed and a tiny glare on his face. They loaded everything into the trunk of Ian’s beat up Buick, an embarrassed flush making its way across his face as he pushed the massive amount of trash and what looked like textbooks out of the way.  
  
Conversation was light, besides Ian apologizing for the mess and Mickey grunting out his address there was barely any talking at all. Ian fiddled with the radio, his eyes flicking back and forth from the dial to the road, the wind from the halfway open window ruffling his hair a bit, his fingers tapping anxiously against the wheel.  
  
Mickey suddenly needed a fucking cigarette. “You mind if I smoke in here?” he asked, already pulling the pack of smokes out of his pocket.  
  
“Only if you share,” Ian said with a grin.  
  
Mickey snorted but lit up anyway, rolling his window halfway down while the cigarette hung out the side of his mouth, squinting as the smoke stung his eyes. He noticed on the floor by his foot there was another textbook, the cover faded and a little bent at the edges. The cover was just a field of sunflowers, the title clearly visible: _Applied Principles of Horticultural Science_.  
  
Mickey pulled on his cigarette, blowing the smoke out the window as he spoke. “You’re a real fucking plant nerd, huh?” he asked before handing the cigarette over to Ian, their fingers brushing slightly on the transfer.  
  
Ian chuckled, taking his own drag off the cigarette before answering. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. It kinda happened unexpectedly? Had no idea I was into plants and shit this much besides weed. But uh,” he paused, taking another drag off the cigarette, ashing it out the window before handing it back over to Mickey. “I’m uh - I’m bipolar and when I finally decided to get my unstable ass medicated the Nursery was a real easy and quiet place to work. It was super calming to be there and it made adjusting to everything a little easier, I guess?  
  
“Found out that I really fucking enjoyed it. Learning about everything was interesting and gardening ended up being really fucking soothing. I don’t know, decided to start going to school for agronomy and horticulture studies and see where that gets me,” Ian explained with a shrug to a raptly listening Mickey. “Too bad I can’t just teach Herbology at Hogwarts,” Ian continued with a snort, amused with his own joke.  
  
Mickey raised his eyebrows, an open mouthed smile stretching over his face as he turned in his seat to fully face Ian. “Wow, you really are a fucking nerd,” he said through grinning lips. Ian laughed and reached over to shove Mickey in the shoulder and Mickey couldn’t even bring himself to retaliate.  
  
They got to Mickey’s apartment complex shortly after that, Ian miraculously finding a parking spot right in front of Mickey’s building. Mickey expected this is where their journey would end,  with Mickey taking his shit out of the trunk and never seeing Ian again until his next trip to the Nursery.  
  
But then Ian got out of the car and slung a bag of soil over his shoulder, hooking one of the plastic bags filled with seed packets to his elbow and looking at Mickey expectantly. Mickey almost scoffed at how ridiculously outrageous his life had become. Spring was about new beginnings and harmony, sure, but Mother was pushing this one a little _too_ much and if Mickey could give her the stink eye for this he fucking would.  
  
“You can put the bag down man, I got it,” Mickey said with a dismissive wave of his hand before he bent down to pick up a bag of soil for himself, grunting a little in the process.  
  
“Mickey?” Ian said, letting out a sigh of exasperation as he adjusted the bag on his shoulder. Mickey looked at him, one eyebrow arched as he waited for him to elaborate. “Shut the fuck up and accept the help, okay?” he said with a sly grin, walking over to the front of the building and waiting for Mickey to open the door.  
  
Mickey grumbled a bit, walking over to the door and precariously balancing the bag of soil on his shoulder while he dug his keys out of his back pocket. He threw a glare in Ian’s direction as he did so, just for good measure, and that cocky assholes smile got wider than before.  
  
It was five flights of stairs up to the roof, Mickey kicking the door open where it swung wide with a bang. He plopped the bag of soil down near his garden trough, Ian following his lead and letting his bag fall over, a relieved sigh escaping his mouth. He put his hands on the small of his back, bending backwards a bit as he stretched.  
  
“You got a beautiful view up here,” Ian said as he gazed around, Mickey grunting in agreement as he took his knife out of his pocket and tore open one of the bags, ready to get down to business.  
  
“Woah, you’re planting now?” Ian said, his eyes wide in shock.  
  
“Uhh, yeah?” Mickey said, picking the bag up again and dumping it in his trough, flattening it out with his hand, the raw energy starting to pulse through his palms and fingers already.  
  
“It’s not good to start planting yet, it’s way too early. Shouldn’t start for like,” Ian looked at his watch, then back at Mickey, “another two weeks at least. You can start growing inside and transplant out here when it gets a little warmer, but I wouldn't recommend doing it right now.”  
  
Mickey crumbled up the now empty bag of soil, throwing it to the side before he stabbed open another one, the sound of the bag ripping open covering up Mickey’s dismissive snort.  
  
“Didn’t recall asking for your advice, but, I think I know what I’m doing,” he said, shaking the bag up and down as he moved from side to side, distributing it evenly.  
  
Ian ran his hand through his hair and walked a little closer, his cheeks puffing out as words formed behind his closed lips, his mouth opening and closing a few times as he chose his words carefully. “I’m not saying you don’t know what you’re doing, I just don’t want you to kill your plants. You ever have a vegetable garden before? It’s different than a flower or herb garden,” Ian said.  
  
Mickey stopped shaking the bag of soil and looked at Ian with a furrowed brow. The kid looked genuinely concerned, like the death of these vegetables was going to be weighing heavily on his conscience if he didn’t try something.  
  
Mickey took pity on him for a moment, letting out a sigh as he relaxed his facial features. “Look, it’s all good, okay? I got uh,” he paused, the sentence getting caught in his throat for a second as he looked down at his thumb which was absently rubbing back and forth on top of the bag of soil. “I got a little bit of a green thumb,” he finished, waving around said hand so Ian saw that he wasn’t fucking speaking figuratively.  
  
Ian’s eyes grew wide for a second before he looked away, clearing his throat with a nod of his head. “I’m sorry, I uh, I shouldn’t have said anything,” he said, his back now turned to Mickey as he walked towards the ledge of the building, looking down at the street.  
  
Mickey watched his back for a moment, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth as he stared. The kid had seen him resurrect a flower not more than two hours ago and Mickey was ready to rip his balls off for it. But here he was, casually mentioning and waving his fucking thumb around to a quasi stranger. He should have been terrified, he should have kidnapped Ian and kept him tied up on the roof as he brewed a memory loss potion to force down the redhead’s throat before sending him on his confused, merry way.  
  
But there was that pulling in his gut again, like vines spreading through his stomach to comfort his jangling insides as a force pulled these confessions from Mickey’s mouth with relative ease.  
  
The atmosphere around them felt awkward now and Mickey couldn’t have that negative tension distract him from his purpose. Emotions held a lot of weight when it came to witchcraft and if this was going to work Mickey needed nothing but optimism and positivity.  
  
“Make yourself useful and go grab those other bags of soil,” Mickey directed with a forced smile, Ian turning from the ledge and giving him a smile of his own before he swept past Mickey and tromped down the steel steps.  
  
Mickey closed his eyes and breathed deep through his nose, shaking his head once or twice and mumbling reassurances to himself before he began. He took a few moments to calm himself, shaking out his arms and legs in hopes to release some of the tension that’s been weighing him down since the peony incident.  
  
Ian was clouding his thoughts and intentions and he couldn’t have that. He needed a clear head, his intentions needed to be at the forefront and this weird thing with Ian couldn’t fuck him up, not today, not during the Equinox.  
  
He envisioned Ian wrapped tightly in bright white ropes, those ropes slowly changing to a grey color as Mickey quietly said the required words, Ian’s imaginary form slowly turning to a grey shadow with each spoken line. “The lines blur, your power falls; Force of conflict, turn to grey; With harm to none, for good of all; your influence negated and swept away.”  
  
Mickey opened his eyes, feeling a little lighter than before, the change to the atmosphere detectable. Mickey smiled and pulled his cigarette pack out of his pocket and grabbed the joint wedged in the corner with slightly dirty fingers.  
  
Ian made it up the stairs a minute later, huffing and puffing as he dropped the last two bags of soil at Mickey’s feet, his face slightly flushed in exertion. Mickey grinned, blowing the smoke out the side of his mouth. “Okay Muscles,” he said like he was impressed while glancing down at the bags of soil.  
  
Ian smiled brightly while he continued to breathe heavily. He walked closer to the trough but wasn’t allowed to get close enough to touch it thanks to the amulets surrounding it. He looked confused but ignored it, rubbing his hands together while he looked at the soil.  
  
“Alright, ready to start?” he said with his grin still in place, looking at Mickey with bright eyes.  
  
Mickey shook his head, handing the joint off to Ian as he waved him away. “Nah man, you ain’t touching my garden,” he said.  
  
The thing about intentions is that unless they were your own they were always foggy, someone could tell you one thing but be thinking a different thing completely. The only intentions and motivations a witch could trust without fail was their own and Mickey didn’t need Ian literally planting his negative vibes into Mickey’s garden.  
  
Ian, rightfully, looked a little offended, but took the joint with a shrug and walked away from the trough. They passed the joint back and forth peacefully until it was gone and Mickey was ready to start planting.  
  
He assumed Ian would leave once the joint was done, a non-verbal form of payment for services rendered. But Ian lingered, watching Mickey do his thing while he lounged in a broken lawn chair someone left up here. If Ian was chatty before it was nothing compared to how he was when he was high and Mickey somewhat regretted sharing some of his stash with this kid.  
  
But it was kind of nice, Ian rambling away on his chair while Mickey had his hands buried deep in the soil as he planted his seeds. The energy on the roof was calm. Peaceful. Welcoming, and Mickey could feel the power tingling up his arms and snaking into his veins, his thumb throbbing in gratitude but not doing anything more than that.  
  
Ian, Mickey noticed, tended to get deep and really introspective when he was high, managing to have entire conversations with minimal input from Mickey; which Mickey was thankful for because frankly he didn’t know how to respond to a lot of the shit that Ian was talking about.  
  
It was like Ian had all this shit built up in him over the years and he sensed that Mickey could be a confidant, a sympathetic ear in an unsympathetic world, someone who was impartial and didn’t know all the ins and outs of Ian’s life and those factors caused him to just let loose. Plus, the marijuana certainly didn’t help, Ian explaining that he hadn’t smoked in a few years. Shit, it probably was the pot, Mickey remembering that Mandy always had a similar effect when she smoked magically charged spliffs much to his horror, he had suffered through many of awkward sex stories for this reason.

He talked a lot about his illness, about the shit he had done that lead up to him working at the Nursery and Mickey listened as well as he could with his hands shoved in the dirt. A lot of it was heavy but it didn’t affect the atmosphere at all. If anything it made things feel _lighter_ . Mickey’s spell worked wonders to banish any and all negative energy from brewing up there.  
  
It as a shared safe space up there on the roof, a place for both of them to be who they were without the judging eyes of the world looking at them through squinted lids.  
  
Mickey finished planting the final seeds, sticking the little homemade sign in the dirt next to the seeds that said _tomatoes_ . The last thing he had to do was water the plants with the rain water and melted snow he had been collecting over the past few months, the water already charged and ready to go in the glass jars lining one of the walls. He poured one of the jars into a small watering can, slowly drizzling the water over the plants as he visualized their full and beautiful bloom over the coming weeks.  
  
Placing the can down, he wiped the sweat off his forehead before running his hands on the thighs of his jeans which did absolutely nothing to clean off all the dirt caked into every line and crevice. He felt calm, his one mission for the Equinox complete and he could only hope that when it hits midnight something would finally change for his thumb. How he longed to feel that pulse and power there again.  
  
Ian had his back to him, leaning against the ledge on his folded arms as he stared at the sunset. The sky was streaked purple and orange, the contrasting colors bouncing off of Ian’s bright hair beautifully.  
  
Mickey stared at Ian’s back for a moment, his silhouette standing starkly against the sunset. He felt a sensation of contentment wrap around him that he hadn’t felt in years, but he shook it off, having his hands in the dirt for a few hours always made him feel a little sentimental.  
  
Mickey grabbed the pack of smokes from his back pocket and lit up before walking to stand next to Ian. He stood facing the opposite direction, leaping up to sit his ass on the ledge and crossing his legs at the ankles. The sunset didn’t look as beautiful from this direction, but Mickey wasn’t really interested in the sunset anyway.  
  
Ian’s face was spattered in orange light, the rays bouncing off his eyes and making them look greener and if Mickey was just a little bit closer he would probably be able to see specs of gold in there as well. He pulled on his cigarette, feeling the smoke curl into the bottom of his lungs before he exhaled through the side of his mouth. Ian glanced over at him, Mickey immediately looking away and cringing on the inside about how goddamn obvious that move just was.  
  
He could feel Ian’s eyes scanning his profile, Mickey sniffing his nose and taking another drag of his cigarette as he tried to feign nonchalance and stamp down the blush he felt growing from being closely studied like this. He was about to snap at Ian to stop staring before he pried those eyes out of his pretty little head when Ian broke the silence.  
  
“What _are_ you, Mickey?” he asked in a whisper, his voice sounding curious and not at all judgemental.  
  
Mickey sighed, reaching up to rub his forehead roughly and probably streaking more dirt through the creases before looking at Ian again. His eyes were wide, earnest, and Mickey couldn’t detect an ounce of malice in them.  
  
Witchcraft was very personal to Mickey, something sacred and powerful and he liked to keep that piece of himself _to_ himself. Mickey hadn’t revealed his secret to anyone, his own family remaining blissfully unaware of the gifts that he inherited. His mother was the only person who ever knew what Mickey was, about the powers he possessed, and she hasn’t been around to revel in that knowledge with him for years.  
  
Out of all the secrets clogging up Mickey’s veins, this was the one that he was the most petrified to reveal, the one secret that he would face the most persecution for despite his desire to sleep with men.  
  
But Ian had been revealing deeply personal pieces of himself as well, so easily confiding in Mickey about his mental illness and career aspirations. There was a trust there, a trust that was so natural and strong that it managed to push these two boys into a place where these confessions came with an ease that Mickey had never felt before. Trust was supposed to be earned, not so easily given away like this but it just felt...right.  
  
He took another drag of his cigarette to calm himself before handing the half smoked stick over to Ian.  
  
“I’m a witch,” Mickey said quietly, so quietly he was certain that Ian hadn’t heard him at all, Ian’s casual non-reaction reinforced that idea and if he didn’t hear it then fuck him because Mickey was only going to say it once.  
  
Ian nodded, indicating that he did indeed hear Mickey, inhaling on the cigarette before stamping it out on the roof ledge, flicking the filter out into the night. “I figured,” he replied simply.  
  
Mickey should have been offended that his big secret was met by an abysmal let down of a reply, but it was oddly comforting. Ian reacted as if it was a normal thing to have someone tell you with complete fucking honesty that they were a witch. It made Mickey feel at ease that his big bad secret was finally out there, spoken into the universe and safe with Ian, just like Ian’s secrets were safe with him.  
  
Ian turned towards Mickey, his palm resting flat on the concrete ledge. “Can I ask you another question?” he asked sheepishly, his eyes flicking down to Mickey’s tattooed hand covered in dirt before looking at Mickey again and waiting for the go ahead to continue, Mickey nodding his head once in agreement.  
  
“So your - your thumb? Does it like, _really_ work?” he asked.  
  
Mickey had to bite his tongue to hold back the sarcastic joke, fearful to ruin this vulnerable and soft atmosphere that he had found himself in with this kid and if he didn’t know any better he would say he was under a spell. _Alright Mother, I fucking get it._  
  
“It uh, it used to. Hasn’t since my mom died though, now it’s just ugly as fuck,” Mickey said with an ill timed sniffle.  
  
“It’s not ugly,” Ian said immediately, to which Mickey replied with a scoff, rolling his eyes before looking at Ian with raised brows. “It’s not,” Ian solidified with a stubborn shake of his head.  
  
The thing about sunsets is that the beauty doesn’t last long, the bright vibrancy that lit up the sky dimming so quickly to be smothered by a thick black blanket littered with stars. The bright oranges and purples had faded, a deep pink now slowing slipping below the horizon and changing Ian’s hair to yet another shade of red. Their eyes were locked and Mickey’s heart started beating rapidly in his chest and it felt like those pesky vines were creeping up his insides again.  
  
Ian’s hand slowly inched towards Mickey’s on the concrete, Ian’s movements confident yet nervous, his eyes never once leaving Mickey’s. His fingers tapped against Mickey’s, causing Mickey to flinch in surprise, blinking a few times as Ian paused his movements only to slowly continue to move forward once Mickey didn’t move away, his hand moving torturously sluggish until he finally covered Mickey’s hand, squeezing a bit as the pads of his fingers reverently rubbed against Mickey’s thumb.  
  
Mickey gasped quietly, his eyes widening as he looked at Ian with a dumbfounded expression. Ian was smiling softly, so fucking softly and he looked so beautiful with the sunset behind him and Mickey was utterly fucking entranced. There was that thread binding them together thrumming with the contact of their hands, the thread pulling tighter and tighter until it was taunt and Mickey’s other dirt caked hand grabbed onto the back of Ian’s neck and pulled him towards his lips.  
  
Ian’s own gasp was lost in Mickey’s mouth, his other hand coming up to cup Mickey’s cheek as they kissed and kissed and kissed, Ian’s lips as soft as velvet.  
  
Mickey didn’t want to be a cliche, but he didn’t see fireworks when they kissed. He saw flowers, dozens and dozens of flowers blooming bright and vibrant, swaying back and forth with every one of Ian’s swallowed sighs like that was the breeze making them dance for joy. It was a paisley pattern come to life, like Mickey had dropped acid in the seventies and got lost looking at someone’s shirt.  
  
When their tongues finally touched, Mickey couldn’t help but whimper, Ian responding by moving closer, nudging Mickey’s knees apart with his own and standing between his now spread legs, pushing himself closer and closer, their joined hands now interlocked and clenched together. Ian was gentle with the kiss, his tongue sweeping out to meet Mickey’s with a tenderness he had never felt before, his encounters with other men so quick and rough they bordered on violent.  
  
But not here, not with Ian. This kiss was downright delicate and Mickey was melting in the hands of this ginger giant.  
  
The kiss started to heat up as soon as Ian’s hand traveled from Mickey’s cheek to the back of his head and pulling him closer as their tongues and lips smacked together quicker. Mickey moaned, untangling their hands to clutch onto Ian’s hips as he shuffled forward a bit, bringing himself closer to Ian’s warmth.  
  
Ian grinned against his lips and placed his hand on Mickey’s hip as well, his fingers snaking underneath the fabric of Mickey’s henley, dragging softly against his skin as he pulled him in for an even deeper kiss.  
  
Mickey had never felt like this before, had never kissed anyone like this before. Hell, he’d barely kissed anyone at all. He just melted into and allowed Ian to set the pace and the movements, following his tongue wherever it went and meeting with a softness that would have made Mickey’s knees tremble if he was standing up.  
  
Mickey wasn’t sure how long they stood up on the roof kissing, but all he knew was that it wasn’t enough anymore. He tightened his hold on Ian’s hips and dragged himself closer to the standing boy, hitching his legs up a little higher to frame around Ian’s hips, their crotches pressed up against each other, causing Mickey to moan into the kiss.  
  
Ian moaned right back, his grip on Mickey’s head tightening, fingers curling into the black locks as he kissed Mickey harder, incorporating small nips to Mickey’s lips, his breath stuttering in his chest as he sighed and hummed with every few passes of tongue.  
  
Mickey’s hand’s started roaming, first grabbing a handful of Ian’s ass before gliding up his back and over strong shoulder blades, fingers delicately tracing down Ian’s neck on both sides before skimming over impeccable pecs and abs. He ran his hand teasingly around the waistband of Ian’s jeans, tugging on the buckle briefly before he put one hand down behind him on the concrete and the other against the back of Ian’s neck again. He gripped onto Ian’s neck hard, rolling his hips forward gently against Ian’s at the same pace they were pushing their tongues together.  
  
Ian groaned and pushed forward, apparently with intent to lay Mickey flat on his back. Mickey almost complied until his hand slipped off the ledge, his body taking a dangerous dive backwards. He ripped his lips away from Ian’s with a pathetic yelp, both hands coming up to clutch onto Ian’s shoulders so hard there were bound to be dents in his skin from Mickey’s blunt nails.  
  
“Oh fuck,” Ian whispered with urgency, his concern slowly bleeding into a deep laugh as he wrapped his arm around Mickey’s waist, pulling him closer again. He rested their foreheads together and Mickey’s caustic reply got lost as he looked into Ian’s earnest eyes.  
  
“You okay?” Ian whispered again through a grin, his face absolutely fucking glowing and Mickey could only bring himself to nod. Ian’s smile slowly softened but never left his face completely, his eyes gazing into Mickey’s so fondly it should have scared him. But it didn’t, it didn’t scare him at all because he knew the same fucking look was on his face too.  
  
Mickey swiped his bottom lip with his green thumb before asking, “Wanna head downstairs?”  
  
Ian’s smile blossomed again, nodding his head against Mickey’s before backing away so Mickey could hop down from the ledge. A flirty smirk formed on his lips as he sauntered past Ian and towards the roof access door.  
  
They fumbled down the stairs, Ian almost tripping over his own damn feet causing the both of them to laugh loudly, the sound echoing off the stairwell walls. Mickey kept leading the way, Ian walking behind him  as they moved down the long hall to Mickey’s front door. As they got closer and closer, Mickey whispered a spell under his breath, breaking the wards and enchantments he had in place to keep people away from his personal forest.  
  
He stopped right outside his front door and turned around to face Ian, his fingers resting against the doorknob in trepidation. Ian was directly behind him, his eyes bright and intense, cheeks slightly flushed, a small reassuring smile gracing his lips. He looked so fucking good and Mickey immediately became five different types of anxious. He never had anyone in his apartment before, had never lowered his wards and enchantments for anyone. Ian was going to be the first human to see what went on in there and letting someone into his deeply private space for a quick fuck was making his inhibitions shoot back up.  
  
But then Ian reached forward, his hand covering Mickey’s on the doorknob as he stepped closer, gently cupping Mickey’s cheek with his other hand and leaning down to capture Mickey’s lips in another tender kiss, turning his hand slowly to twist the doorknob open together.  
  
They tumbled into the apartment still connected at the lips, Mickey slamming the door shut with his foot as he pushed Ian backwards towards his bedroom. His room was the most normal looking part of the apartment, if he could just get Ian in there without him seeing the rest of it maybe he wouldn’t flee.  
  
He successfully navigated them through his clusterfuck of an apartment and into his bedroom, closing the door a little too rough. They pulled away from each other once in the seclusion of the room, the dull light from the rising moon leaking in through the window and giving a natural glow to the small area.  
  
Ian opened his eyes and looked around briefly, his gaze lingering on the plants hanging from the ceiling in pots fastened with rope. Fully bloomed vines of bleeding hearts dangled down from the pots and casted faint shadows on the wall. Ian walked over to the nearest vine, holding it delicately between his fingers.  
  
“Bleeding hearts, huh?” Ian said with a serene grin, looking at Mickey over his shoulder quickly before turning back to the plant, “I’ve always loved these.”  
  
Mickey sucked in a deep breath, his stomach buzzing like he swallowed a bunch of bees from the hive in the corner of his living room. Bleeding hearts were Mickey’s favorite plant, the plant he grew the most when his thumb still worked, the plant he thought was the most beautiful of them all.  
  
That thread between them pulled him closer and closer to Ian again until he was standing in front of the redhead, staring up at those luminous green eyes as they gazed right back. Tired of waiting, Mickey reached behind himself and grabbed his shirt by the collar, pulling it over his head and throwing it to the side. Ian stared open mouthed for a moment until he followed suit, unzipping his hoodie so quick the sound of it rang throughout the quiet room.  
  
Ian only got down to the tank top underneath before Mickey lost his patience. How many fucking layers with this guy wearing? He plastered himself against Ian’s front and pulled him down for another kiss, this one biting and urgent, his hands dragging underneath the tank top and feeling the bare taut muscles underneath for the first time.  
  
Ian groaned and moved Mickey towards the bed in the corner. Mickey was a cheap bastard, his mattress just laying on the floor with no frame or box spring so maneuvering the both of them down to the ground took some finessing, but soon Ian was laying on top of Mickey, still connected at the lips.  
  
Mickey had his legs spread wide, hands roaming up Ian’s back, the damn fucking tank top still in the way as he hummed into the kiss, Ian’s leg slotting perfectly between his own. One of Ian’s big hands was running up Mickey’s chest, firm but gentle, running over one of Mickey’s nipples causing a chill to shoot through Mickey’s body.  
  
Ian was cupping Mickey’s chin when he pulled away from Mickey’s lips, much to Mickey’s chagrin. He turned Mickey’s head to the side, his lips trailing over his jawline and down to his neck, licking and sucking on a patch of exposed skin.  
  
Mickey sighed and clutched onto Ian’s shoulder with one hand, the other grabbing a handful of his ass and pulling him in closer still. Ian laughed against Mickey’s neck, the sound vibrating throughout Mickey’s entire fucking being as he continued to lick and suck on Mickey’s neck almost tenderly.  
  
Ian spent a long time scattering bites and kisses across Mickey’s pale skin, his tongue tracing over every inch of his neck and leaving no area unexplored, though he was careful not to leave any hickeys behind. They were naked by the time he was done unraveling Mickey with languid licks and blissful bites, traveling back up to his lips where Mickey whined into the fervent kiss as he felt Ian’s cock drag against his own finally. They kissed for a while, neither of them in a rush to speed things up quite yet, satisfied with the tasting the other’s mouth and grinding against each other to their hearts desire.  
  
Ian eventually pulled away from Mickey’s lips with a groan, sitting back on his heels and basically towering over Mickey in his prone position. Ian’s mouth was hanging open, spit shined and full, his chest blotted red, his eyes heavy lidded and blown out as they traveled up and down Mickey’s body, his gaze lingering on Mickey’s full cock.  
  
Mickey took the opportunity to get an eyeful of his own, eyes taking a similar path to the one Ian just took, his tongue poking into his cheek when he caught sight of Ian’s amazing fucking dick for the first time. When their eyes locked together again, Ian’s had turned a few shades darker.  
  
“Turn over,” he grunted and Mickey almost threw his neck out with how quickly he complied. Ian hummed in appreciation, grabbing a thick handful of Mickey’s ass, mumbling “fuck” under his breath and Mickey arched back into his touch a little more. Ian smacked one of Mickey’s asscheeks, Mickey hissing a bit as he clutched onto his pillow, the sting warming his skin and making him feel so fucking good.  
  
“Lube?” Ian asked, and Mickey was left wondering where the boy who wouldn’t shut the fuck up on the roof had gone. Mickey propped himself up on his elbows, reaching over and pulling the drawer of his bedside table out so fast the whole thing almost went tumbling down to the floor. He rummaged around for a moment, Ian smacking his other cheek as he waited and the groan that Mickey let out that time couldn’t be muffled by the pillow.  
  
His fingers wrapped around the bottle and he tossed it over his shoulder, the bottle hitting Ian in the middle of his chest with a dull thunk. Mickey collapsed back against the pillow and wriggled around until his ass was hoisted higher in the air, a literal invite for Ian to hurry the fuck up. Ian chuckled and the sound shot straight down Mickey’s spine like lightning but Ian, thankfully, took the hint.  
  
He took his time fingering Mickey open, plastering himself to his back again as his fingers pushed in and out at such a slow pace that Mickey was rapidly unraveling underneath him. Ian was kissing on the back of his neck, his breath hot on Mickey’s moist skin and their combined uninhibited noises rang out together in an enchanting song.  
  
Mickey was so utterly consumed by Ian that nothing else existed. The whole world began and ended on this bed with Ian securely stuck to his back, his fingers slowly and leisurely taking him for all he was worth, breaking down Mickey’s inhibitions with each thrust forward.  
  
Mickey reached back and grabbed onto Ian’s hair, his still dirt caked fingers curling into the sweaty red strands tightly as he let out a particularly low groan when Ian pushed a third finger inside. Mickey could feel his legs start to tremble, the slow pace and the steady passes at his prostate were driving him mad, not to mention the sounds Ian was lowly sighing against Mickey’s ear were getting transmitted right down to his neglected dick.  
  
No one had ever been this gentle with Mickey before, Mickey was barely this gentle with himself, and it was taking him to a headspace he wasn’t sure he was one-hundred percent comfortable with just yet. He’d been so open and vulnerable with this virtual stranger all day he was starting to feel striped raw and exposed down to the bone. Fucking, he was good at, fucking he could do with his eyes closed (in fact he preferred it that way most of the time). Emotional fucking on the other hand was not something that he had any experience with, but he had a feeling he was about to become intimately acquainted real quick.  
  
“Ian. Ian come on,” Mickey whined, grinding against Ian’s hand to prove his point.  
  
He felt Ian grin against the back of his neck, placing one more deep kiss to the skin there before he mumbled out a placating “Okay.”  
  
Ian sat back on his haunches and Mickey felt a shiver run up his spine at the absence, positive there would be goosebumps pimpling his back for a few moments. Ian twisted his fingers into Mickey a few more times before he was left bereft of those as well. Mickey felt the bed dip behind them as Ian leaned back towards his discarded pants at the end of the bed, poking around in his wallet before pulling out a condom.  
  
Mickey bit down on his lip when he heard the wrapper rip open and peeked over his shoulder to see Ian roll the condom down his dick with expert ease. Ian caught Mickey’s eye, one side of his mouth quirking up in a sideways smirk as he lubed himself up. Mickey swallowed thickly, turning away from Ian’s burning hot gaze, eyes clenching shut in anticipation as his fingers squeezed onto the pillow under his head.  
  
Ian’s hands started at Mickey’s shoulders, squeezing briefly before sliding further down his back, his thumbs massaging the tense muscles as he went. He grabbed onto Mickey’s hips and pulled him up, framing the outside of his own hips with the inside of Mickey’s thighs. Mickey’s upper body was still pushed against the mattress, his back arched beautifully, his ass in the perfect position for Ian to just slip right in.  
  
Ian slapped his ass again and Mickey had to clench his teeth, a hiss slipping out through his lips. Ian grabbed two fat handfuls of Mickey’s ass, pulling him apart with an approving hum as he spit against Mickey’s hole, Mickey jerking forward from the sensation.  
  
And then Ian was slowly pushing inside and Mickey couldn’t help the long drawn out moan that left his throat at the intrusion. Ian had such a strong grip on Mickey’s hips that he couldn’t flinch away from the pressure even if he wanted too. With each small nudge forward, Mickey could hear Ian let out these little whimpers, poorly restrained sounds of pleasure leaking out his lips like water and Mickey wanted to hear more.  
  
He thrust his ass back the rest of the way, taking Ian down to the hilt and he swore that both of them stopped breathing. Ian rocked forward, pushing himself impossibly deeper as his fingers dug harder into Mickey’s skin.  
  
“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Ian whispered quietly to himself, those small sounds making a balloon of pride swell in Mickey’s chest. Ian thrust in and out of him gently a few times, building a rhythm that still managed to hit Mickey deep and hard every fucking time and had him mewling into his pillow. He felt so full, so fucking full and content. His body was on fire, certain his skin was hot to the touch.  
  
Ian’s hands left Mickey’s hips and ran up his back, leaving goosebumps on his fiery skin and taking hold of Mickey’s hands, linking their fingers together and squeezing tight as he molded himself against Mickey again, chest to back. Mickey was completely trapped underneath Ian and he couldn't think of any other place he would rather be.  
  
Mickey moaned loud, Ian sitting deeper inside him than he was before and pushed his ass upwards towards Ian, again and again, meeting Ian thrust for thrust. Ian set a rapid pace now the sound of their skin slapping together mixing with their guttural moans. Ian was brushing against Mickey’s prostate with every move causing his body to tremble from the sensations.  
  
Ian started kissing on Mickey’s neck again but the gentleness of before was startlingly absent, immediately devolving to biting and sucking and Mickey didn’t have half a mind to stop him, not with the noises that Ian was making.  
  
Ian squeezed one of Mickey’s hands in reassurance as he let go, running his palm flat against the humid skin of Mickey’s arm until he got to his chin. He turned Mickey’s head to the side, slowing the pace of his thrusts as placed a gentle kiss on Mickey’s lips.  
  
If Mickey wasn’t a wreck before, that kiss solidified it. He melted into the mattress and into the kiss, opening up and meeting Ian’s tongue immediately, their soft passes and tender licks matching the slow pace at which Ian was grinding his hips against Mickey’s ass.  
  
Mickey clenched around him and Ian stopped mid kiss to gasp into Mickey’s open mouth. His eyes snapped open and latched on to Mickey’s, a tranquil smile ghosting across both their faces for the briefest of moments before Mickey smirked and wriggled back against Ian’s dick. Ian responded in kind, thrusting back into Mickey hard and deep, both of them moaning in unison.  
  
Despite the fast and frantic pace they had adopted, there was still something soft about the way they were fucking. Ian still had one of his hands interlocked with Mickey’s, he had his forehead resting between Mickey’s shoulderblades as he whispered praises against his skin, licking up the sweat beading up on the back of his neck every so often and Mickey was so deep in a world of bliss he could barely fucking think.  
  
“Fuck Mickey, I don’t know how much longer I’ma last,” Ian said with a stutter in his voice, his thrusts becoming jerky and uncoordinated.  
  
“It’s okay,” Mickey breathed out, dancing dangerously close to the edge himself since Ian first pushed into him ten minutes ago.  
  
Ian groaned and let go of Mickey’s hand so he could hold himself up, driving into Mickey harder than before. Ian felt so fucking good Mickey was choking on air, his moans and whines coming out without shame as he made sure he let Ian know how fucking good he was making him feel. His cock was leaking and throbbing underneath him, begging to be touched but he didn’t even want to risk moving positions.  
  
Ian pushed forward a few more times until he punched out a deep moan, thrusting jerkily, his thighs shaking as Mickey felt his warm release flood the condom. Mickey clenched around Ian as he rolled through the aftershocks, each firm push forward brushing Mickey’s sensitive prostate and making him whine desperately.  
  
Ian was breathing heavily when he stopped completely, resting inside Mickey as he swore under his breath. A few moments of silence passed between them as Ian tried to get his bearings back, Mickey’s body still ablaze, his swollen cock pulsing with each breath he took. He wiggled back against Ian’s deflating cock, reminding him he wasn’t quite finished yet.  
  
Ian chuckled a bit and ran his hand soothingly through Mickey’s hair, squeezing onto the back of his neck as he pulled out, Mickey moaning in misery at the loss.  
  
Without missing a beat, Ian rolled Mickey over onto his back, his cock flopping against his stomach as he stared up at Ian in anticipation. Ian smiled, soft and tender and cupped Mickey’s cheek in his hand, his thumb rubbing back and forth against his cheekbone as they just stared at each other.  
  
Mickey bit down on his bottom lip trying to hide his smirk as his flicked his eyes down to his weeping cock and Ian snorted out a laugh that lit up his whole fucking face before he got down to business.  
  
He slid down Mickey’s body and promptly took the waiting cock into his mouth, wasting no time in setting a rhythm and taking Mickey down to the hilt. Mickey gasped and gripped hard onto Ian’s hair, knowing this wasn’t going to last long. Ian’s tongue felt so fucking good, his lips looking almost as good as they felt wrapped around his dick.  
  
It was all over when Ian pushed one finger back into Mickey’s ass, searching out his prostate quickly and Mickey was arching his back with a moan, the sharp tugs on Ian’s hair warning him of his impending release. Ian just hummed around Mickey’s dick and sucked him off harder, his hand twisting at the base and Mickey let go. His eyes clenched shut as he came, hips jerking and thighs trembling as he released into Ian’s willing mouth, Ian swallowing around him with ease.  
  
He pulled off shortly after, but not before cleaning Mickey up completely with his tongue. He collapsed next to Mickey, both of their breathing erratic and stitled as they came down from their highs. The smile on Mickey’s face grew bigger and bigger the longer he laid there, his body tingling all over as the light from the moon glowed brightly against his exposed chest.  
  
Ian was the first to break the silence, turning his head to look at Mickey and mumbling out a simple, “Bathroom?”  
  
“Door to the right,” he replied, his earlier insecurities about the mess known as his apartment absolutely obliterated as he stared into those ernest green eyes.  
  
Ian walked bare assed out of the room, Mickey admiring the view the entire time until Ian disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking shut softly. Mickey huffed out a quiet pleased laugh and stretched out his muscles with a satisfied sigh, a huge smile spreading across his face that he was powerless to stop. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed his pack of smokes, placing a cigarette to his still grinning lips as he flicked the lighter with his other hand. He inhaled heavily, his whole body feeling loose and complacent, a feeling he hasn’t had in years regardless of the potions he’s brewed to replicate it.  
  
He tilted his head backwards, his neck stretching out as he gazed through the window to look up at the moon and stars. They seemed to be twinkling brighter than ever, the moon beams getting more luminous the longer he stared, reaching in through the window panes to bathe Mickey in a radiant white light, his skin tingling in a different way than it was a few minutes ago.  
  
Mickey pulled on his cigarette again, the smoke mingling with the rays of light and dancing in a beautiful pattern of shapes and swirls. Mickey hummed and closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the life and vibrancy he could feel absorbing into his skin, his body warming up all the way from his toes to the top of his head. It felt like the light was pulsing with life, Mickey could almost feel the rhythmic thumping like it was his own heart.  
  
He licked his lips and opened his eyes again, his whole room now completely coated in the bright silvery light of the rising Equinox moon. Mickey looked directly at the moon and he knew his eyes were twinkling like his mother’s used to.  
  
“Thank you,” he whispered to Mother quietly, gratitude dripping from his lips for all the things she had done and provided for him over the years.  
  
The bathroom door creaked open and the strong moonlight waned, the vibrancy dialing back with every step Ian took until nothing looked out of the ordinary, the moon piercing through the black of the room and looking no different than it would in any other apartment in Chicago.  
  
Ian was rubbing the back of his head, a look of confusion stitched across his face as he crawled back into bed with Mickey, burrowing under the covers without shame. He looked up at Mickey with curious eyes, watching him quietly as he continued to smoke his cigarette.  
  
“There’s a frog in your bathtub,” Ian mumbled after a few moments of silence.  
  
Mickey snorted out a laugh, pulling on his cigarette one last time before he rolled over onto his side, reaching over Ian to stamp out the embers in the ashtray on his bedside table, Ian's soft breaths breezing across Mickey's collarbone.  
  
“He’s a toad,” Mickey said simply before crawling under the covers as well and doing something he never could have foreseen himself doing -- cuddling up to another man and passing out peacefully and quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two will be up whenever I uuuuuh.....write it lmao.  
> Thank you so much for reading and not giving up on me!!  
> Also, special thanks to [Aleks](http://lewisnixoniii.tumblr.com/) for being the most wonderful beta. ♥  
>  ** _[xoxo](http://damnnmilkovich.tumblr.com)_**


	2. the message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! You might have noticed the chapter count went up and no! it's not a mistake! I decided to split this into a three part fic because chapter two was looking like it would be close to 18k when it was eventually finished and that's even too much by MY standards lol. 
> 
> This starts off six months after the end of the first chapter. Enjoy! ♥

It was a cool morning, the Earth still wet from an early morning rain shower and the brisk air blowing through the open window was filling the apartment with a refreshing, yet slightly musty, breeze. The hardwood floor was cold under Mickey’s bare feet, so he curled his toes beneath the hem of his sweatpants as he leaned back against the counter, bowl of cereal in hand. The sun was shining brightly, cresting off the tops of the trees outside and making the few orange leaves scattered about stand out starkly amongst the green. Bright beams were landing in streaks across the scuffed floor and furniture, dust motes floating happily in the light, the crystals and gems laying around glistening with each caress of the sun.  
  
It was peaceful. Calming. Another pleasant morning to add to his increasing number of pleasant mornings.  
  
He brought the spoon up to his mouth, some of the milk falling off and landing back into the bowl of slightly soggy Frosted Flakes soundlessly. He gazed out the window and watched the few clouds still peppering the light blue sky roll by as he chewed his breakfast behind a lazy grin.  
  
There was a heavy thud to his left and he turned his head to see Ian frantically pulling his notebooks and loose papers out of his backpack, throwing them carelessly down on the scratched wood table. Mickey’s eyebrow went up, watching the scene with amusement as Ian got more and more agitated.  
  
“Mick, you seen my lucky pen anywhere? I can’t fucking find it and I need it for this test,” Ian said, looking up at his boyfriend with wide eyes as his hand still rummaged around in the mess known as his backpack.  
  
Mickey didn’t say a word, just pointed with his spoon to the lost pen laying innocently under the kitchen table. Ian ducked his head down to investigate before he exhaled a noticeable sigh of relief, crawling underneath the table to grab the pen. Narrowly missing smacking his head on the corner upon standing, he stood upright again and brought the pen up to his lips, kissing the tube of plastic dramatically. Mickey rolled his eyes at the theatrics of it all.  
  
Ian pulled the pen back and held it in front of him, looking at it inquisitively with furrowed brows as he turned it over a few times in his hand. It was an innocuous looking pen, a normal fucking black ink Bic with the end chewed to hell and back, but Mickey still diverted his gaze to stare  out the window again, hoping to quell the guilty look crawling over his face by shoving more soggy cereal into his mouth.  
  
“Mickey,” Ian started, his voice lowering and losing the panicked edge it had earlier, replaced now with a reprimanding tone.  
  
Mickey sighed inaudibly and looked back at Ian with _fuck-you-want_ brows, once again spooning more cereal into his mouth in an attempt to appear nonchalant as he waited for Ian to continue.  
  
“What did you do?” Ian asked, holding the pen in his loosely clenched fist, waving it around for emphasis.  
  
“I didn’t do anything,” Mickey said with a shrug, trying to keep his voice level. He had always been so good at lying, had spent his entire life lying about who he was and what he was up to, but for some goddamn reason being around Ian completely dismantled Mickey’s ability to fib and he fumbled through half truths and white lies clumsily like a fucking idiot.  
  
Ian sighed and walked closer, cradling the pen in the middle of his now open palm. “Take it off,” he said, holding his hand out in front of Mickey.  
  
Mickey shook his head, swirling the sugary milk around in his bowl before piling the last remnants of cereal onto his spoon. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, Freckles,” he said before shoving the spoon in his mouth and making direct eye contact with Ian while he chewed.  
  
Ian walked closer still and grabbed the bowl out of Mickey’s hand, placing it on the counter next to them with a dull clatter, Mickey not even putting up a fight as Ian caged him in between his spread arms.  
  
Ian leaned down a bit before he spoke, “I know you’re just trying to help, but I want to do this on my own. I _need_ to do this on my own,” he said softly yet sternly, eyes flitting back and forth between Mickey’s still sleep laden blues. Ian looked a little sad, but also absolutely determined and confident and Mickey rolled his head back with a sigh and held his hand out for the pen.  
  
Ian grinned and backed away, placing his lucky pen into Mickey’s waiting hand. Mickey squished the pen between his palms, holding his hands like he was praying to fucking Jesus. He placed his thumbs on his chin and tilted his head down until the tops of his middle fingers were resting between his brows. He closed his eyes, muttered a few choice words under his breath, licked his lips, and blew faintly into the small opening between his hands. The pen twitched a bit, then stopped, the Luck Spell that Mickey had charmed the pen with late last night  (turning the metaphorical lucky pen into the literal) dissipating into thin air.  
  
He lowered his hands and handed the pen back over to Ian, a frown settling deep into the center of his forehead. Ian grinned and grabbed the pen, rushing over to his backpack and zipping it into a secure pocket before swinging the bag over his shoulder. He walked back over to Mickey, who was now leaning against the counter with his arms crossed and a slight scowl dampening his features.  
  
Ian shook his head and placed his huge hand on Mickey’s cheek, commanding all of his attention. “Listen, I appreciate it, I do. But I _gotta_ do this without any help, okay? It’s important to me that I do this myself,” he said softly, gently squeezing Mickey’s cheek.  
  
Mickey pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and nodded. Ian grinned, soft and delicate, and leaned in to kiss Mickey just as softly, capturing his top lip between his own for a brief moment before he pulled away completely, a chill running up Mickey’s spine at the absence.  
  
Ian walked over to the fridge and pulled it open, rummaging around for one of his stupid fucking breakfast shakes as he spoke. “Don’t forget I gotta stay home tonight. Fi needs me to watch Liam. So don’t fucking send me any Snaps of you looking all sad and depressed hoping I come over,” he said into the fridge, standing straight up and kicking the door closed with his foot before turning to face Mickey again with a playful glint in his eye. “Don’t fucking tempt me, Milkovich,” he said, pointing at Mickey in a poor attempt to seem intimidating.  
  
Mickey scoffed at the accusation that he was some lonely, depressed housewife waiting by the rain streaked window for her husband to come home, but it wasn’t exactly the wrong assumption to make. Mickey just enjoyed Ian’s company, he had spent too long being alone and miserable and now that he finally fucking had someone, being alone felt worse than it ever did before.  
  
Okay, he was a little clingy, but so the fuck what? Ian was too and that little fuck acting like he wasn’t going to be sending Mickey “I miss you” Snaps with his trademarked sad puppy dog eyes was the funniest thing Mickey had heard since Marcus accused him of moving one of his lily pads slightly to the left.  
  
Ian basically floated over to the front door, pulling it open and yelling “wish me luck!” over his shoulder before the door clicked shut behind him.  
  
Mickey let out a sigh and deflated against the counter, rubbing his hands down his face. The door burst back open, Mickey jolting forward as the handle smacked loudly against the brick wall.  
  
“On second thought, don’t say anything at all,” Ian said with a grin before closing the door again. Mickey shook his head but couldn’t help the slow smile that creeped over his face.  
  
It had been six months since him and Ian hooked up for the first time and their relationship had been steadily climbing up and up. It was awkward for awhile, after that night, because not only did Mickey wake up to his thumb being the same lifeless green it had been for years, he also woke up to an empty bed and an empty apartment.  
  
And it stung, probably worse than the revelation that his grand plan to get his thumb back had failed. He had let Ian into his home, into his life, into his fucking body. He had revealed deeply personal parts of himself to this kid and it was all for naught. He felt used and dirty in a way he hadn’t felt in years.  
  
His magic suffered because of it, his mind cloudy and brooding and his negative energy was impacting more than just his personality. His plants noticed the shift in the atmosphere and adapted accordingly, his once vibrant and lively apartment started to feel bleak and depressing, his plants wilting as they soaked up Mickey’s sadness.  
  
It was a week after the initial hook up when Mickey finally noticed something was wrong and it took the bleeding hearts in his room to turn brown and dried up for him to get off his ass and do something. But before he could go about cleansing his apartment of any negative energy and attempt to begin fixing his neglected plants, he first had to clear his mind.  
  
He went down to the Nursery, stormed in there like a pissed off fucking cat and paced down the aisles with his fists balled up by his sides in his search of Ian. He found him watering a section of freshly sprouted tulips with an absent look on his face.  
  
“Aye, Firecrotch!” Mickey had yelled and Ian turned so quickly he almost dropped the watering can. Mickey took three long strides towards him, steam basically billowing out of his ears as he scowled at the redhead harder than he had after the peony incident. Mickey pushed Ian backwards, hard, and Ian actually did end up dropping the water can, splashes littering the cuffs of Mickey’s jeans as water pooled around their sneakers.  
  
“The fucks your problem, huh?” he spit, pushing an unsuspecting Ian again.  
  
“Mickey, I-” Ian started but didn’t get to finish before Mickey was pushing him backwards yet again, Ian stumbling over a large hose snaking along the concrete.  
  
“You think I’m just someone you can fuck and leave, huh? Use me like some goddamn whore and fucking run away in the middle of the night like a fuckin’ pussy? You got another thing coming,” Mickey snarled as he stalked closer to a frightened looking Ian.  
  
Some lady gasped and Mickey turned his burning hot gaze over to her where she stood clutching the non-existent pearls around her neck. “Mind your own fuckin’ business, lady,” Mickey growled, the fire in eyes amplifying tenfold and if the look on her face was anything to go by she basically shit her fucking pants as she scampered away from the crime scene.  
  
Mickey whipped around and pushed Ian against the wall so hard that he bounced against the wood. Mickey’s hand was splayed across Ian’s upper chest, fingers digging into the hollow of his throat. Mickey briefly thought that he should _maybe_ stop threatening the employees of this establishment before they banned him for life, but that thought disappeared as quickly as it came. It would be worth it to pound Ian into the fucking ground, there’s plenty of other Nurseries he could patron.  
  
“Mickey,” Ian said, his voice coming out somewhat choked as Mickey pushed against his windpipe. “I can explain,” he finished, hands raised in surrender.  
  
“Then start fucking talking,” Mickey spit, his hand not moving an inch from where it was keeping Ian a healthy arm’s length away, but still within swinging distance.  
  
“I-I was scared,” Ian said, his voice wavering, eyes wide, and it was everything Mickey needed to hear for his anger and rage to melt away completely and be replaced by a certain type of sadness he had never felt before. He was used to people being afraid of him, it was an unfortunate side effect of having his particular last name. In the past he had relished in that fear, it made life easier growing up the way he did to know people wouldn’t fuck with him.  
  
But Ian being afraid of him? That hurt more than Mickey anticipated. Ian was the only fucking person who knew who Mickey really was and if Ian was afraid of _that_ Mickey then what was the point of even fucking trying?  
  
He alleviated some of the pressure he had against Ian’s chest, but didn’t remove his hand completely. “Of-of me?” he had asked quietly, eyes drooping as he blinked away the misty sensation he felt forming.  
  
“No! I mean, yeah maybe. I don’t know! But not because you’re, ya know,” he waved his hand up and down Mickey’s body to explain what he meant even though Mickey knew exactly what he was trying to say. “That night it--it was so fuckin’ surreal and _good_ , I haven’t felt that good in a long time and I don’t know, I fucking panicked. I’m sick, remember? I thought I was making the whole thing up, I thought my brain was twisting everything around and I was afraid I was building it up to be more than it was. So I fucking left before you woke up so the illusion wasn’t shattered. It’s selfish, but I just wanted to keep it the way that it was, ya know?” Ian explained.  
  
Mickey lowered his hand and backed away, his arms falling down limply at his sides as he just observed Ian as the cogs in that red head turned and turned. Ian lifted his head and looked at Mickey through his lashes as he rubbed the back of his neck.  
  
“I wasn’t making it up though, right? You felt that too?” he asked softly, his mouth slightly parted as he waited for an answer.  
  
Mickey shook his head minutely. “You weren’t making it up,” he answered just as softly as Ian had asked. Ian sighed so loud in relief Mickey swore he could feel the exhale hit his face from a few feet away.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Ian said.  
  
“Me too,” Mickey replied.  
  
Ian stepped closer to Mickey but was careful enough to still leave some breathing room between them. “So, can I like, get your number? Take you out on a date? I won’t fucking run away this time, I promise,” Ian said with a smile, no trace of apprehension in his body and Mickey’s face turned ten different shades of red as he grinned so wide his fucking cheeks hurt.  
  
It was smooth sailing after that until a month ago when a wave hit that almost swallowed the vessel whole.  
  
Mickey had known Ian was sick, it wasn’t something that the other man tried to hide from him, but Mickey was wholly unprepared to deal with his illness when it decided to rear its ugly head. Sure, Ian had spoken a lot about his disorder that day on the roof, but Mickey didn’t comprehend a lot of it and didn’t want to ask again, so he just left Ian alone to swallow his pills behind the privacy of a closed door.  
  
Mickey didn’t want to push him, didn’t want to poke and prod Ian for information, he knew better than most that you can’t force someone to tell you personal details about their life no matter how bad you longed to know the information (that didn’t stop Mickey from doing some research of his own, though).  
  
So when Ian basically dropped off the face of the Earth, Mickey was more than a little terrified about what happened to his new boyfriend.  
  
Ian had stopped responding to any of Mickey’s text messages and every phone call rang on and on until it went to voicemail, Ian’s overly cheerful greeting grating on every one of Mickey’s frayed nerves with each ignored call. Mickey could feel that something was off, that pulling in his gut whenever it came to Ian lingering like a dull ache. It was like a tiny thorn was very gently brushing against his insides as a reminder that something wasn’t right and it was making Mickey extremely uncomfortable.  
  
It was this constant nagging at his insides that pushed Mickey into action and found him on the front steps of a rundown blue house, nervously smoking his cigarette as he waited for someone to answer the door he had aggressively knocked on two minutes ago. This was definitely the house, Ian’s Buick parked on the curb, that stupid bumper sticker with the horrible plant pun making the vehicle easily recognisable even if Mickey didn’t remember the license plate number.  
  
He stubbed his cigarette out on the door frame, turning sideways to flick the filter out into the street and when he turned back around he came face to face with a short girl with bright red hair. She didn’t say anything, the look on her face inquisitive and defensive as she waited for Mickey to speak first.  
  
“Ian here?” he asked unprompted, to which the girl raised her eyebrows a bit and leaned against the door frame, pulling the door right up against her side and cutting off Mickey’s view into the house.  
  
“And _you_ are...?” she asked, all attitude and bravado.  
  
“Mickey,” he replied tersely.  
  
Her face lit up a bit, a smirk stretching across her lips as her eyes raked down Mickey’s body, moving up and down like she was a fucking robot scanning his vitals. “So, _you’re_ Mickey?” she said with mirth in her voice.  
  
“Just fuckin’ said I was didn’t I? Ian here or not?” Mickey bit, the scratching in his stomach getting more and more intense as the seconds dragged on making him more irritable and jumpy than he was to begin with.  
  
She deflated a little and turned her head to look deeper into the house before she turned back around and answered with a lowered voice that sounded a little hostile. “He’s feeling a little under the weather, can’t come out to play right now, sorry,” she said before attempting to close the door directly in Mickey’s face.  
  
Mickey shoved his boot into the door jamb at the last second, effectively stopping her from shutting him out completely. He’d break the whole fucking door down to get to Ian if he had to. Ian was here, Ian needed help and this little spitfire wasn’t going to stand in his way.  
  
“Listen, I _know_ , alright? Just want to see him, make sure he’s okay,” Mickey said sincerely, hoping that his genuine concern came across when she looked into his eyes.  
  
It worked, she sighed a bit and opened the door wider, allowing Mickey into their home. Mickey slinked past her, eyes scanning the house as he entered. It was just as rundown on the inside as it was on the outside. But it felt warm. Comfortable. Mickey could feel the love that radiated throughout this house despite the holes in the wall and the stains on the carpet. It was a feeling that was startlingly absent from his own house growing up.  
  
Mickey nodded to the kid on the couch with brown hair and a fading black eye as he looked up at Mickey through a haze, bringing the burning joint up to his lips and nodding back in hello before turning back to the television.  
  
The girl stood in front of the staircase with her arms crossed, her prickly eyes assessing Mickey once again. “He’s upstairs,” she said, inclining her head back towards the staircase. Mickey moved to walk around her, but she grabbed onto his arm to stop him from progressing any further. Mickey glared down at the blunt pink nails digging into his sleeve with a scowl.  
  
“Don’t be scared, okay?” she said, her hand not releasing the grip she had on his bicep and looking up at him with eyes that were the same shade of green as Ian’s, the innate sadness lacing throughout her features startlingly familiar as well.  
  
Mickey’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared down at her. He wanted to ask “scared of what?” but instead just gave her one solid nod and after a deep resigned sigh she relinquished her hold on his arm.  
  
“First door on the right, you’ll see him,” she said and moved away from the stairs to allow Mickey up there without supervision, her gaze burning into his back with each step he took.  
  
Mickey stopped on the landing at the top of the stairs and peeked into the door that had caution tape lining the outside. Ian’s bed was the very first one that you could see, a tiny mattress that Ian probably couldn’t even fucking fit on comfortably was underneath haphazardly pinned up military posters that were slowly getting plastered over with diagrams of plants. Ian’s head was poking out of the blanket and resting on a bright green pillow case, his red hair looking darker than usual from all the grease, an indicator that he hadn’t moved from that position in a few days. Ian’s eyes were closed, his breathing steady, and to anyone else he probably just looked like he was peacefully sleeping.  
  
But Mickey could see the bags under his eyes from here, could tell that his lips were chapped and his skin just looked clammy and paler than usual.

Mickey sighed and walked into the room, the floor creaking somewhat under his weight. He squatted down next to the bed, running his fingers through Ian’s dirty hair and really not even giving a fuck that it felt slightly gross slipping through his fingers.  
  
“Ian?” Mickey whispered, afraid to speak too loudly in the absolute silence of the room. Ian stirred a bit, but didn’t open his eyes. Mickey moved his hand down to cup Ian’s face, fingers curling into the hair behind his ear as his thumb rubbed back and forth on the curve of Ian’s cheek.  
  
“Ian,” he tried again, and those dull green eyes revealed themselves with what looked like a tremendous amount of effort. It took him a moment to focus, blinking a few times in slow motion before he turned his head slightly to the left and looked up at Mickey.  
  
“Mick?” he said, his voice hoarse and small and Mickey swallowed hard before he nodded.  
  
“Yeah, yeah it’s me,” he said, squeezing Ian’s cheek to solidify the fact that he was real, he was here. Ian gave a small hum and closed his eyes again. Mickey sighed and looked around, a plate of stale toast and a full glass of dusty water resting on the cluttered table next to the bed.  
  
“When’s the last time you ate?” Mickey asked softly, fully expecting not to get a response but a groggy reply came from Ian’s barely moving lips.  
  
“Can’t remember,” he said.  
  
Mickey cleared his throat, nodding a few times. He kept rubbing Ian’s cheek, trying to smile and sound light as he asked, “What if I make you some of that cinnamon-sugar toast you like, huh? Have a few bites of that for me?”  
  
“Okay,” Ian said barely above a whisper. Mickey sniffed, squeezed Ian’s cheek in reassurance and stood up, his knees cracking a bit from being in a squat position for so long. He grabbed the dirty dishes from the table before leaving, taking one last look behind his shoulder at his stationary boyfriend before heading down the stairs.  
  
He dropped the dishes in the sink and placed his palms flat on either side of the porcelain, leaning forward and hanging his head down. He closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths to ground himself, wishing he had some of his calming tea for himself and for Ian too. He brought one hand up to rub at his eyes, breathing in deep through his nose and clearing his throat a few times before straightening back up, looking around in search of some bread.  
  
The red haired chick was standing behind him, startling Mickey a bit as he didn’t hear her approach at all. Her eyes were looking at Mickey inquisitively with a little fire burning in there, like she was daring Mickey to say something negative about her brother so she could jump to his defense.  
  
“Got any bread?” was all Mickey asked.  
  
Mickey left a few hours later with promises to return in the morning, reluctant to vacate his spot on the floor, leaning back against Ian’s mattress and mumbling small incantations under his breath every so often. There was something he had to do before the night was over.  
  
When he got back to his apartment, he took a few minutes to collect himself. He paced up and down his living room, hands running through his hair as he tried to calm down. He had never seen Ian like that before, the vibrant and happy kid he had fell for was nowhere to be found in that shell laying in that bed. Mickey was spooked, had never experienced anything like this before, the most prominent emotion he felt was fear.  
  
But he wasn’t scared _of_ Ian, he was scared _for_ Ian. He knew this wasn’t easy on the kid and he wanted to help in anyway possible.  
  
Mickey ran around and opened all the windows in his apartment, performing a quick cleansing ritual to clarify his mind and space of any negative energy before he got down to business. He went to the bookcase where he stored all of his homemade materials, gathering the required items before he started to arrange his altar. Mickey wasn’t one to keep photos of people, but he had a few polaroids of loved ones hidden in a drawer for this exact purpose.  
  
Blue candle on the left, white candle on the right, red candle in Mickey’s hand as he etched Ian’s astrological sign into the wax with a pin. Mickey put the pin down and held the red candle in his hand, taking a deep breath before he closed his eyes and visualized Ian in his healthy state; happy, smiling, laughing and joking around, looking at Mickey softly and sincerely.  
  
Ian, fresh out of bed and wandering around the apartment in his boxers, making Mickey breakfast with some spinach from the garden, complaining about class and work as Mickey rubbed his shoulders as he stood behind him, listening.  
  
Ian, curling up behind Mickey in bed, placing delicate kisses to the back of his neck and rubbing his hand lovingly down Mickey’s side.  
  
Ian, shoving fucking cheetos in his mouth in between rounds of Mario Kart as he jokingly accused Mickey of cheating and trying to wrestle the controller out of his tattooed hands, the battle slowly turning into a makeout session.  
  
Mickey shivered a bit as he felt the joy that being around Ian brought him, the happiness he felt in the arms of that smiling kid. He put all this healthy energy into the candle, the feeling of happiness he felt in his chest flowing through his fingers and into the candle quickly.  
  
He placed the red candle down in the middle of his altar, picking up the blue and white candles respectively, charging them with good will before scratching the words “good health” into the blue and “healing” into the white. He grabbed his bottle of healing oil, pouring a small amount into his palms before rubbing the candle to distribute the oil, Mickey snorting a bit at the visual.  
  
Arranging the candles back into their appropriate spots, he then grabbed the healing incense and placed it into his cauldron, inhaling the thin grey smoke that wafted up from the cauldron as he wrote Ian’s diagnosis on a piece of paper.  
  
He gazed at the photo of Ian he tacked onto the wall in front of his altar, feeling that joy and (fuck it) love bubble up into his chest again he scribbled out the words on the paper, erasing them from his mind, erasing them from existence. He dropped the paper into the cauldron, letting the words be cleansed by smoke from the incense.  
  
He struck a match off the back of the box, the flame sizzling to life as he lit the red candle, then the blue, then the white, the required words slipping from his lips with a practiced ease:  
  
“With no harm, for good of all, away from you, the illness falls. Healthy mind, healthy heart, healthy body, magic impart. Illness purged, spirit cleansed, all your suffering at an end.”  
  
He kept his eyes closed long after he lit the candles, still envisioning Ian as the happy, carefree kid he knew and fell for. Picturing him healthy and smiling, Mickey pulling up every small moment he kept locked in his mind knowing that no matter how insignificant the memory might seem, they would add more emotion to the power behind the spell.  
  
He eventually broke the circle, ending the ritual completely, but he kept the candles burning all night until they burned out on their own, pools of hardened wax stuck to his altar come morning.  
  
Mickey went back to the Gallagher house early the next day after a restless sleep. The air was still, the morning dew still glistening on the grass, a chill in the air that was indicative of late August, autumn kindly reminding the world that it was right around the corner.  
  
He knocked on the door quietly, this time being greeted by the kid with the fading black eye from yesterday. He let Mickey in without a word, and when Mickey walked into the living room the first thing he saw was a head of shower dampened red hair sitting up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around broad shoulders.  
  
Mickey grinned and sat down on the couch next to Ian, mindful to give him a wide berth. They just stared fondly at each other for a few moments before Mickey broke the silence.  
  
“How you feeling?” he asked.  
  
Ian just gave a small smile of his own in return, wrapping the blanket around himself a little tighter before he answered.  
  
“Better,” he replied.  
  
It took Ian a week to get out of his funk completely, a visit to the doctor to tweak his prescriptions a bit had him steadily on the up and up. They still hadn’t really talked about it, Ian skirting around the topic everytime Mickey tried to bring it up. It was like Ian was embarrassed that Mickey had seen him like that and worried that he would scare his new boyfriend off with something he had little control over.  
  
The ship came through the storm a little banged up, some holes blown in the sides and the sails a little tattered, but it was nothing a little TLC wouldn’t fix once they reached the shore.  
  
Which is exactly why Mickey was trying to charm Ian’s pen. He had fallen behind in class because of the set back and his professor was ignorantly unsympathetic to Ian’s request to have another week to review the material they covered while he was absent. Mickey wanted to hex the bitch, but Ian was adamant that that wasn’t going to be a thing.  
  
Ian had spent many hours in the last week cramming for this exam and even though he put all the effort and focus he had into studying, he still wasn’t one-hundred percent confident with his grasp on the material.  
  
Ian needed a win, and Mickey just wanted to guarantee one for him. But he knew that sometimes you had to do things alone just to prove to yourself that you could.  
  
Mickey stood up on his tiptoes to see out the window and down onto the street below. Ian was throwing his backpack into the passenger seat of his car before plopping down into his own seat, the engine turning over with a growl. Mickey grinned, whispering a quick charm under his breath and blowing a kiss to Ian’s retreating vehicle, a plume of grey smoke trailing behind him. That car really was a piece of shit.    
  
Mickey had a lot of work to do today. The garden on the roof had grown significantly over the summer, Ian and Mickey spending hours up there in the hot summer sun, planting and harvesting all the vegetables they had grown during the season, their pale skin pinkening, both of their freckles popping up in clusters with a vengeance.  
  
But Summer was rapidly coming to an end and Mickey needed to move his herbs back inside before the chilly September nights ruined his crop. He changed into his roof clothes, a shabby pair of khaki shorts and a dark red tank top, grabbing his stereotypical woven basket from the kitchen table before heading up to the roof with a beer and a joint in tow, garden shears shoved securely into his back pocket.  
  
The sheer size of their garden always managed to make Mickey smile, the roof looking like a small slice of Midwestern farmland hidden in a concrete wasteland. Together, Ian and Mickey had built an extension to Mickey’s original garden, planting a wide variety of new vegetables from pumpkins to bell peppers and even planting some strawberries and grapes on seperate trellis’ against one of the chimneys.  
  
Vegetable stalks grew tall and vibrant, pops of reds and yellows and oranges hidden amongst all the green, bees happily still buzzing back and forth between everything the garden had to offer. There was life here, there was love here, a constant reminder of how deeply rooted Ian now was in Mickey’s life, home and soul.  
  
Mickey walked around with a grin on his face, his fingers reaching out to delicately touch all the vines and leaves that dangled down from the boxes, grabbing onto a plump red tomato and squeezing gently to test the firmness before twisting it off the vine and placing it into his basket.  
  
Thanks to the spells that Mickey used, the garden was ready for harvest at least twice a week. New fruits and veggies growing to ripeness quickly and healthy, any potential pest attracted to the free food being deterred by the strong energy pulsing through the dirt. Ian’s sister, Fiona, was grateful for the weekly packages that Ian brought home with him at the end of a harvest, the extra money saved from grocery shopping being put to other things like new clothes and school supplies.  
  
Mickey was up there for hours, the sun moving slowly across the sky and elongating the shadows cast on the ground, his basket full to the brim with delicious and sweet smelling produce. He took the shears out of his pocket before collapsing down into one of the random beach chairs with a pleased sigh. He pulled the joint from behind his ear and placed it against his lips, flicking his lighter a few times until a flame finally danced up.  
  
Just as he was about to place flame to paper, a crow landed on the ledge of the roof, wings flapping rapidly as it cawed loudly with a purpose.  
  
Mickey raised his eyebrows and stood up from the chair, slowly walking over to the crow as it continued to caw incessantly and tap it’s tiny talons against the brick aggressively.  
  
“Hey, woah, woah, woah, slow down there pal,” Mickey said to the crow, holding his hands up in front of himself to try and placate the bird.  
  
The crow stopped jumping and rested its wings back against its body. It walked around in a circle for a moment before stopping and looking back up at Mickey, it’s black eyes piercing directly into Mickey’s blue. The crow started over, cawing quieter and slower than it was before to make sure Mickey could comprehend the instructions. Mickey didn’t interrupt once, letting the crow deliver the message in full before he spoke.  
  
“Where?” he asked, breathless, face growing pale, his thumb dully throbbing.  
  
The crow cawed again, waiting for Mickey to nod in understanding before turning and flying away, Mickey watching the bird fly until it was just a black dot on the horizon, soon disappearing completely.  
  
Mickey’s hands were shaking, his forehead sweating as he swallowed convulsively around the lump in his throat, the full weight of the crow’s message breaking through the shock and settling deep into his chest. All the air was knocked from his lungs, his knees felt weak and wobbly causing him to stagger back and rest against the ledge of the roof. He stared at the ground unblinking for a few moments before shaking his head and snapping out of it.  
  
He took a few deep breaths before he sparked up the joint, the soothing smoke curling around his lungs and loosening the knot of dread he felt trying to seize him whole.  
  
It wasn’t even an ominous message from the crow. It wasn’t a warning, it wasn’t threatening in nature, it was just a simple message with loose directions and Mickey couldn’t quite grasp why it felt like his entire world had come to screeching halt.  
  
He needed Ian.  
  
He sucked down the last of the joint, stubbing it out and throwing it over the ledge of the roof before he grabbed his basket and headed back into his apartment. He stripped quickly, hopping into the stand up shower in the corner of his bathroom, throwing a dirt caked middle finger up to grumpy Marcus.  
  
He watched the suds circle around the drain as he washed his body, the crows message still loudly ringing in his ears as he tried to imprint every word into his mind so he could easily relay the message to Ian so he could get his input on the matter.

He dressed in a haze, not even bothering to style his hair before heading over to Ian’s, the soft black locks drying in the sun and getting those tiny wave like curls he hated but Ian adored. Once he got to the Gallagher house he just walked through the kitchen door, his need to knock long gone as the Gallaghers fully accepted him as one of their own, though Mickey could do without constantly dodging questions about his thumb and his suspiciously superb vegetable growing capabilities. Just because one Gallagher knew what he was, doesn’t mean the rest of them needed to know.  
  
Ian was sitting at the island counter, papers and textbooks strewn across the surface as Liam sat on the couch in the living room. Ian turned in his seat to see who had entered and the bright smile that bloomed across his face at seeing Mickey faltered a bit as he fully soaked in the look on his boyfriends face.  
  
Mickey pulled up a chair at the table and ran his hands through his hair and down his face once he was seated.  
  
“Mick?” he heard Ian ask, shortly followed by the scraping of his chair against the linoleum as he stood and walked over to Mickey, “what happened?”  
  
“Got a message,” Mickey said with a sigh, finally looking up at Ian and unconsciously smiling as he looked at him, his racing thoughts slowing to a power walk, his mind and body soothed by Ian’s presence like it usually was.  
  
“A bad message?” Ian asked with genuine concern heavy in his voice, now sitting at the table in the chair next to Mickey, arms folded in front of him as he looked at Mickey with curious brows.  
  
Mickey shook his head as he snorted sarcastically, sort of pissed at himself over his dramatic reaction to the whole thing. “Nah, I have no fuckin’ reason to be this upset but it shook me up bad man, that crow was not fucking around.”  
  
“Crow?” Ian said with a tilt of his head, accidentally doing a startlingly accurate portrayal of said bird.  
  
Mickey nodded. “Yeah, he delivered the message. Was all fucking riled up and I had to make him start over.”  
  
“Okay,” Ian said slowly, as if he wasn’t used to Mickey talking to random fucking animals at this point, he’s heard some of the spats that him and Marcus have gotten into. “What was the message then?”  
  
Mickey licked his lips, rubbing his eyes aggressively with the heels of his hands before delving into the semantics.  
  
“It was a message from my fucking Mom,” Mickey said with a resigned sigh right before he rested his head on his arms crossed on the table, landing with a little more force than he anticipated, wincing with the sting.  
  
He heard Ian hum thoughtfully right before he felt a broad hand start rubbing soothingly between his shoulder blades. “Didn’t know she was still alive,” Ian said.  
  
Mickey rolled his head back and forth on his forearms in a poor imitation of shaking his head. “She’s not,” he replied, his voice thick and somewhat muffled, “died when I was fuckin’ nine.”  
  
Ian stopped rubbing, but his hand didn’t leave Mickey’s back and the comforting weight and heat of it was doing wonders in calming his jangling nerves.  
  
“So...so this was a message from beyond the grave or some shit? What the hell, what was it?” Ian asked, his voice sounding equal amounts concerned and intrigued and if Mickey hazarded a guess he would say that Ian’s face was scrunched down in that adorable way it does when he’s confused.  
  
Mickey snorted out a laugh before he lifted his head again and sat up straight, Ian’s hand leaving his back but not straying far, those long fingers curling around the back of Mickey’s chair. Mickey ran his palm over his lips before he started talking.  
  
“The crow said that she wants to speak with me on the night of the Autumn Equinox in two weeks. That I have to go to the land of my ancestors where she will be waiting for me, that I’ll know where to find her.”  
  
“You have to go to the fucking Ukraine?” Ian basically shouted and Mickey flinched a little at the sound of his voice.  
  
“Calm down, Red. My Mom’s family settled in Northern Michigan decades ago. There’s a forest up there, in the Porcupine Mountains. It’s fucking huge, I’ve looked it up before, but I’ve never been there. I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for her and what if--what if I don’t find her in time? The crow stressed the goddamn time crunch. Fuck! I don’t even have a way to get up there!” Mickey said, slamming his fist down on the table.  
  
Ian’s hand found Mickey’s back again, rubbing soothingly before trailing around to grab onto his shoulder. “Hey,” he said softly, waiting for Mickey to look him in the eye before he continued, “it’s alright. We’ll go together, take my car. It should make it there.”  
  
“Ian,” Mickey began, shaking his head, “you can’t take more time off from school man, come on.”  
  
Ian resolutely shook his head once, his hand coming up to hold onto Mickey’s cheek. His green eyes looked into Mickey’s so softly, so sincerely, he felt himself falling for this kid all over again. Ian smiled gently, his thumb caressing the swell of Mickey’s cheek.  
  
“We’re going, you can’t change my mind. This is fucking huge and you deserve to be in the forest with your Mom, okay? You deserve this,” Ian said again fiercely, squeezing onto Mickey’s cheek a little bit to drive the point home and Mickey’s eyes started welling up with tears.  
  
He screwed his face up and huffed out a few deep breaths as he tried to quell the surge of emotions he felt coursing through his body. He felt a tear or two run down his cheek and he wiped them away furiously with his balled up fist, Ian swiping his thumb underneath the other eye.  
  
“Thank you,” Mickey croaked out, rolling his eyes at himself for getting this emotional, still not entirely used to someone seeing him this vulnerable. But he meant it, he was truly grateful for everything that Ian had done for him regarding his craft. Ian admired from a distance, rarely asked questions and never got in the way of his rituals and practices. The fondness he felt for Mickey palpable in every look and his appreciation apparent with every helping hand. He didn’t make Mickey feel like a fucking freak and was eager to aid his growth in anyway possible.  
  
But Mickey was waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the day that Ian would eventually back away with his hands up and the words “this shit is too much for me” falling from his lips (frankly, Mickey was surprised that a cryptic message from his dead fucking mother wasn’t the final nail in the relationship coffin). Until then, Mickey would savor every fucking ounce of Ian’s patience and acceptance with gratitude.  
  
Ian smiled and leaned in to kiss Mickey softly on the lips, pulling back and whispering a delicate and heartfelt “anytime,” against Mickey’s lips.  
  
Ian stood up from the chair and ran his hand through Mickey’s hair soothingly before moving towards the fridge, pulling out a bottle of beer and popping the cap off with the corner of his shirt before placing it down in front of Mickey. Mickey reached for it with an appreciative grunt and sucked down half the bottle in one go.  
  
“Wanna hang out for a little bit? I need a break anyway to eat some damn food and take my meds and I’m sure Liam is hungry too, right Liam?” Ian yelled over his shoulder, turning a bit to look at his brother still sitting on the couch like a statue.  
  
The statue nodded his head a few times, his eyes not once leaving the TV screen.  
  
“Grilled cheese it is,” Ian said with a grin before he moved into action, assembling the sandwiches and throwing some homegrown tomato slices into his and Mickey’s, the smell of burnt cheese and the sound of sizzling juices permeating the small kitchen.  
  
“How’d that test go, by the way?” Mickey asked when they were all seated at the kitchen table, happily munching on their grilled cheeses. Liam was wiping the grease from the cheese all over his shirt, Ian smacking the tiny hands away from the kid’s chest with a sour look on his face before promptly handing over a napkin.  
  
“Great!” Ian said around a mouthful of food, swallowing and taking a sip of water before continuing, “I barely struggled at all actually, all that extra studying really paid off,” he said, throwing a bright smile in Mickey’s direction. Mickey just smiled in return and went on to talk about how their garden was looking on the roof, what he was able to harvest that day and what herbs he brought back into the apartment.  
  
The idle chit chat was doing wonders in distracting Mickey from the mission that he was mysteriously handed, but the anxious thoughts and the guilt didn’t stay at bay for long.  
  
Mickey ended up staying the night, leaving Ian alone to hit the books after their quick dinner and slumming it on the couch with Liam. He was watching some cartoon that Mickey didn’t give a shit about, but it’s not like he was watching it anyway. His mind was a mess, the crow’s message running crystal clear through his thoughts like he was sitting on Mickey’s shoulder and softly crooning it into his ear.  
  
His mother, his _Mama_ , had a message for him after all these years and Mickey had absolutely no idea what the conversation would entail. What did she want? Would she be angry him for abandoning his magic all those years ago or happy for all that he’s achieved since then? Would she pissed that Mickey didn’t even try to contact her since she passed? And what would she say about him being gay? He didn’t think he could handle her disappointment over that particular fact, her rejection would hurt worse than his father's and that fucker used fists.  
  
But most of all, he was just hoping that he had made her proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is all domesticity and plot build up and nothing _really_ exciting happened but it's for reasons!!  
>  thank you for reading!! [♥♥♥](http://damnnmilkovich.tumblr.com/)


	3. the journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! And yes, the chapter count went up again, but I promise four will be the last one!! I just got to a good stopping point with this and wanted to update sooner for you folks! ♥  
>  **Please be aware that there is in depth talk of Ian's bipolar disorder and there is a suicide attempt mentioned.**
> 
> Enjoy!

They left on a Friday two weeks later, the Autumn Equinox falling on the third Saturday of September.  
  
Mickey could barely sleep the night before and it had nothing to do with the howling wind that would not let up. It wasn’t even raining, the trees swaying violently with each gust and causing menacing shadows to dance on the wall. The fierce rustling was bound to have leaves littering the concrete tomorrow, a natural graffiti of burnt oranges and rusted reds interspersed with stubborn green to bring some color to the dreary Chicago streets.  
  
He sat up in bed chain smoking cigarettes, one foot propped on the mattress, elbow resting on his knee, while the other leg was laid out flat in front of him, ashtray precariously resting on his thigh. His thoughts were running too fast for him to relax and every time he attempted to drift off, visions of his mother would pop up behind his closed eyes and a palpable ache would start forming in his chest, an ache that no heartburn medication would alleviate for him. It took everything he had not to nervously bounce his leg up and down, didn’t want to risk waking Ian who was peacefully asleep next to him, tiny snores emanating from his partially opened mouth.  
  
Mickey took a deep inhale off his third cigarette, burning it down to the filter, the sound of the paper crinkling in the silent room getting drowned out by the windows whistling with another strong gust of wind. He ashed his cigarette with a flick of his green thumb and leaned his head back on the wall, blowing the smoke out of his puckered lips and watching the twirling patterns it made in the moonlight. It was about three in the morning, judging by the position of the moon, and Mickey needed to go the fuck to sleep soon so he wouldn’t be completely fucking useless on their eight hour drive later that day. He was supposed to keep Ian company on the long drive, switch off driving if necessary. He wouldn’t be a very good co-pilot if his face was smashed against the car window while he slept.  
  
He stubbed the last of his cigarette out and picked up the plastic tray as he softly, so softly, inched away from the wall and down the mattress. He really needed to push the thing into the center of the room, this corner bed bullshit wasn’t conducive for when Ian slept over, which happened more often than not these days. He placed the ashtray on the bedside table, careful not to make any noise, before walking out of the bedroom.  
  
In the living room the dancing branches left longer shadows along the walls making it feel like the entire room was swaying with the breeze, the floor felt like it was moving underneath his feet. Mickey rubbed his tired eyes, sighing heavily as he walked over to his cabinet of supplies and moving some shit around, the sounds of glass vials clinking together softly, until he found what he was looking for.  
  
He _could_ just make himself some tea that would aid him in falling asleep, but that would take too much time. He would have to grind up the required herbs and then brew them for at least thirty minutes for the tea to gain any potency. He _could_ have just rolled up a joint, but he was all out those organic rolling papers that he liked and he had no bowls or bongs hanging around. He _could_ rub one out and hope that the crash from an orgasmic high would blissfully carry him to sleep, but Ian was safely in dream land and Mickey wasn’t about to jerk his cock in front of Marcus.  
  
Instead, he would just do a simple spell. The ritual of performing spells always calmed him, would no doubt slow his racing mind more than the three cigarettes he sucked down in the bedroom. Nicotine had always done wonders in calming him down as a teenager, but the older he got the more he realized that rituals and spells soothed his nerves magnificently better than any carcinogen ever could.  
  
Sometimes, he wondered what his life would have been like if he didn’t abandon his powers for all those years, if he didn’t bury everything that he was so deep inside himself he could barely fasten together a rope long enough to save himself from the depths. If he had cultivated and honed his skills, gathered peace and contentment from the Earth, actually relished in his magic instead of doing everything he could to smother it. If his father wasn’t a huge piece of shit and treated his wife and kids with kindness and respect instead of with hatred and abuse. If his mother didn’t die...  
  
He shook his head, trying to clear those thoughts away like an etch-a-sketch because going down that road definitely wouldn’t help him in his battle to pass the fuck out.  
  
He pulled out a white candle and some lavender oil, closing the cabinet behind him as he walked over to his altar. He placed the candle down and poured a small portion of the oil into his palms. He rubbed his hands together to distribute the greasy mess before picking the candle back up, the wax almost slipping through his slicked digits, and ran his palms over the candle, envisioning himself blissfully asleep while he did so.  
  
He wiped his palms off on his sweats not really giving a fuck about getting them dirty and picked up his box of matches, striking the head off the side of the box and breathing in deep once the match sparked to life. He loved that smell.  
  
Lighting the candle, he got lost in the way the flame danced beautifully, accompanying the shadows on the wall in a rhythmic waltz. It was hypnotic in its own way, the way the flame would flicker and sway, moving in any direction it pleased.  
  
Fire was natural. Fire was beautiful. Fire could save a life or utterly destroy everything it touched. The duality of nature could be observed in one tiny little flame hissing to life off the burnt end of a stick.  
  
Mickey shook the match until the flame went out, tossing the burnt wood somewhere on the altar. He wiped his mouth with his palm, momentarily forgetting about the oil that was still seeping into his skin. He screwed his face up in revulsion at the taste, tongue poking out as if the open air would make the oil evaporate from his taste buds as he made a hacking noise in the back of his throat.  
  
He wiped his mouth again with the back of his hand, smacking his lips together a few times in an attempt to get the taste off his lips before he started the spell.  
  
He focused again on the flame of the candle, the light jumping around and prancing like it was alive, its energy vast and eternal. He closed his eyes, breathed deep. Held it. One, two, three, four, five seconds. Exhaled. Repeat until he felt his mind quiet, his thoughts slowing from a raging river to a calming creek.  
  
Opening his eyes, he watched the flame sway as he recited the spell. “Candle burning in Moon’s light, aid me in my sleep tonight. Give me rest so that I may be ready for the coming day.”  
  
Licking the pads of his index finger and thumb on his left hand, cringing again at the taste of the oil, he took another deep breath, and on the exhale he reached forward and pinched the flame between his fingers, extinguishing the fire, only a small hiss of discomfort leaving his lips.  
  
It wasn’t immediate, but within the next few minutes he felt his body start to relax, felt his eyes become heavy, a deep yawn leaving his chest with a quiet moan.  
  
He walked back into the bedroom but before he crawled back into bed he took a moment to just stop and stare. He leaned against the door frame, hands shoved in his sweatpants pockets, bottom lip wedged between his teeth as he admired Ian’s bare back in the moonlight, how his pale skin seemingly glowed white, his freckles faint but dark enough to stand out in the night.  
  
Eyes traveling further and further, down the slope of his back, over the swell of his ass hidden beneath the blanket and then back up to watch the steady rise and fall of those strong shoulders as he breathed deep and slow. Even unconcious everything that Ian did so utterly enraptured Mickey, made his heart hurt with a different kind of ache than the one thinking about his mother caused.  
  
Mickey crawled back into bed a few minutes later when he felt the spell really start to take effect. He was hyper aware of his movements, didn’t jostle the springs of his shitty mattress too much, the squeaky sound they made only appropriate when they were fucking. He lifted his corner of the blanket and shimmied down until he was laying in his favorite sleep position; on his stomach, right arm hooked beneath the pillow, cheek resting snugly on the soft material. He could feel himself start to drift off, his breathing becoming deeper and deeper, his body slowly succumbing to sleep.  
  
Right before he passed out, he heard Ian grumble something in his sleep, the mattress dipping a bit behind him as Ian adjusted his position. The weight of Ian’s arm came down across Mickey’s lower back, that large freckled hand resting along his hip and pulling him backwards towards the warm body behind him.  
  
Mickey snorted a laugh soundlessly into the pillow, but shimmied backwards until his side was pressed along Ian’s front. Ian hummed, squeezed onto Mickey’s hip and placed a chaste kiss to the back of his head, breathing in deep before the sounds of his soft snores floated into Mickey’s ear in a reassuring lullaby that brought Mickey quickly, and peacefully, to sleep.  
  
Mickey woke up the next morning to the feeling of fingertips barely brushing against his shoulder blade. He grumbled under his breath, dug his face into the pillow and grunted out a dissatisfied huff. He turned his head to the right to see Ian’s delicate, smiling face, eyes still puffy from sleep, hair rumbled, some soft curls falling onto his forehead.  
  
A small smile bloomed on Mickey’s face, humming in contentment before closing his eyes again. He licked his dry, still smiling, lips before he spoke.  
  
“Mornin’,” he mumbled, voice cracked and hoarse with sleep.  
  
“Good morning,” Ian replied, his voice awake and devoid of the sleep laden sound that Mickey’s held, like he’d been up for hours already. “Sleep well?”  
  
Mickey grunted an affirmative into his pillow rather than answer the question. He did sleep surprisingly well after he performed that spell, his body feeling rejuvenated and rested, his mind quiet and not racing frantically about the upcoming trip.  
  
They had a lot left to do before they started their journey but Mickey wasn’t ready to move yet. The bed was just so damn warm and the sensations of Ian’s fingers softly trailing lower and lower down his back had him almost returning to his dreams.  
  
The blanket resting on his back dipped lower, Ian pushing it down with his free hand as he leaned in to place a kiss to Mickey’s shoulder, fingers digging in with a little bit more urgency the lower and lower they went. A small shiver ran up Mickey’s spine and he tried to tell himself it was from the loss of warmth.  
  
Roaming fingers found their destination shortly, Mickey’s ass like a homing signal for those glorious digits. Mickey’s body was still half asleep, but his back arched in position like a switch had been flipped.  
  
Ian laughed, his huff of breath fanning across Mickey’s skin, before he placed another light kiss to his shoulder and pulled down his sweatpants so they were bunched up underneath his ass. He massaged the muscle of Mickey’s ass in his large hand, gripping it and pulling it to the side. He smacked it lightly once, rubbed to soothe the sting, then smacked it infinitely harder the second time around.  
  
Mickey hissed, but he loved that sting.  
  
Ian’s mouth had taken on a task of it’s own, a trail of kisses leading from Mickey’s shoulder to the back of his neck where Ian continued to swirl his tongue and place disgustingly sweet kisses to Mickey’s soft skin. His fingers were still gripping and pulling at Mickey’s ass, fingertips dragging dangerously close to Mickey’s clenched hole.  
  
A tiny whine slipped passed Mickey’s lips when Ian moved his position from laying next to him on the mattress to having half of his body on top of him, left leg slotted between Mickey’s spread ones, his cock resting hot and half hard on the back of Mickey’s thigh. The weight felt amazing, Mickey always did like having the heavy weight of someone on top of him, weighing him down, keeping him anchored when his body was riding high on the waves of pleasure. It kept him grounded.  
  
Ian kept kissing on Mickey’s neck, his languid movements gaining heat as he added teeth and suction to the mix, fingers now mercilessly teasing against Mickey’s hole.  
  
Mickey was usually a patient bottom, would let Ian have his fun back there for as long as he wanted because he knew in the end there would be blackout level orgasm’s all around. And, in general, he liked having his ass played with. Whatever, liking what he likes don’t make him a bitch. But he was irritable in the mornings, just wanted to come quickly and efficiently without all the foreplay and teasing; his morning wood didn’t have time for that.  
  
“You actually plannin’ on doing something back there chief or am I gonna have to take care of myself?” he asked, his voice slightly muffled by the pillow.  
  
“Pushy, pushy,” Ian breathed against his skin.  
  
He bit down, hard, and soothed the sting with his tongue before sitting up on his knees and leaving Mickey completely bereft of that weight he was romanticizing moments earlier. Ian shuffled them around, large hands pushing on the inside of Mickey’s thighs so he was spread nice and wide, fingers then finding purchase on Mickey’s hips, pulling his ass up slightly, his back arching beautifully as he kept his face smashed into the pillow.  
  
Ian hummed in approval, one hand pulling Mickey’s cheek to the side while the other rubbed against his hole lightly, dragging down and down until Ian cupped Mickey’s dick in his hand, pulling tight and dry and just on the right side of painful.  
  
Those ministrations didn’t last long, soon Ian took two large handfuls of Mickey’s ass, spread him wide and then delivered a swift, long lick between his cheeks.  
  
Mickey gave a shuddering gasp and clutched onto the pillow, his tattooed fingers tangling in the ripped pillowcase as he pushed back against Ian’s tongue. He could feel Ian grin against his ass, his tongue flicking against Mickey soft and slow, pulling away whenever Mickey pushed backwards, desperate for more pressure, desperate for Ian to hurry this the fuck up.  
  
And almost as if Ian could read his mind, his teasing licks turned into forceful strokes and steady circles that had Mickey softly crying out for more, the steady pace making him pant, whines slipping past his lips every few licks.  
  
“Ian,” he sighed, fingers curling even tighter into the pillowcase when Ian pushed his tongue into Mickey, soft and hard at the same time, thrusting in and out and turning Mickey into a sweaty mess.  
  
Ian hummed against Mickey in approval, the vibrations causing Mickey to gasp in pleasure, his cock absolutely leaking underneath him and begging for some attention, but he didn’t want Ian to throw off his absolutely perfect rhythm to give him a hand, literally.  
  
So he reached down himself, moving his upper body around to free his arm but making absolutely certain that his ass was still hoisted up perfectly for Ian’s consumption.  
  
Unfortunately, the pressure and slickness of Ian’s tongue disappeared as soon as Mickey wrapped his hand around his cock and he cried out in misery mixed with pleasure.  
  
“Mmm, you’re so sexy Mickey,” Ian said hotly, his humid breath fanning across his slick puckered hole, causing him to shiver. Mickey heard a click, knew that click fucking well and then Ian was pushing a finger inside and Mickey went to pulling on his dick that much faster. Ian thrust that one finger in and out a handful of times, slipping a second finger in shortly after and the stretch had Mickey nearly biting down on his pillow, ass pushing back against those fingers to get them in deeper.  
  
Ian laughed and placed a kiss to the small of Mickey’s back, fingers picking up the pace and thrusting in and out of Mickey quickly, twisting and searching for that spot inside him that was bound to have him seeing flowers behind his eyelids.  
  
Mickey felt his cock pulse in his hand, crying out in pleasure when Ian found that spot he was looking for, religiously rubbing against it like it would bring him good luck. Mickey’s ass clenched around Ian’s fingers, Ian gasping in approval as he thrust in and out quicker, making sure to rub against Mickey’s prostate the whole time to stimulate it properly.  
  
His other hand reached down to fondle Mickey’s balls, rubbing them and gently pulling on them and Mickey moaned loud right before he spilled over his hand, ass thrusting back against Ian’s fingers and forward into his own fist as he tried to milk the pleasure for all it was worth.  
  
Things slowed down, fingers were removed and both of them collapsed against the mattress, Mickey’s sated grin slipping unconsciously over his face as he happily settled into the wet spot. They lay side by side for a few moments; Mickey panting and trying to suck down some air into his depleted lungs, Ian just gazing at the side of Mickey’s profile with a goofy grin on his face.  
  
Ian sat up a couple seconds later, running his hand through his disheveled hair and letting out a content sigh before he spoke, “Debs is gonna be here in about an hour, should probably clean up.”  
  
Mickey groaned and buried his face into the pillow for a completely different reason then he was before. “Jesus Christ, couldn’ta waited ‘til my fuckin’ jizz was dry to bring up your sister? Ruining my afterglow, you freak,” he grumbled.  
  
Ian just laughed under his breath, unleashed a loud smack to Mickey’s exposed asscheek and then stood up from the bed, arms reaching up towards the ceiling as he bent backwards in a stretch. His pleased groans had Mickey turning his head to take a peek and the way that the morning light was hitting Ian in all the right spots was almost enough to take Mickey’s breath away. Not to mention the raging boner that was still standing tall and rigid, practically casting a shadow on the floor. Mickey licked his lips.  
  
Fuck, he was gay as hell.  
  
“Now get up, lazy, and come shower with me,”  Ian said with a wink before he turned and walked out and Mickey wasn’t one to deny a demand like that.  
  
He ran into the bathroom after Ian but stopped before joining him, the steam of the shower already permeating the small bathroom. He stood in front of the tub and unceremoniously scooped Marcus out of the murky water, loud croaking emanating in protest from the small toad as his tiny limbs wiggled to try to get out of Mickey’s grasp.  
  
“Shut the fuck up, give us some privacy,” Mickey bit out harshly while he gently laid the cranky toad into the soil of a nearby plant.  
  
Marcus croaked again, a scowl on his face that Mickey was pretty sure was permanent. “Ya, fuck you too buddy. Free loading ass motherfucker,” Mickey mumbled under his breath as he sauntered back into the bathroom, almost slipping on the wet tiles when he pulled back the curtain and saw a soaped up Ian with his dick in his big freckled hand. Mickey grinned, genuine and wide, and stepped into the shower, the noise of the water beating down against the tile drowning out the sounds of their quiet laughter.  
  
After the shower, Mickey frantically ran around the apartment trying to hide anything that would allude to the fact that he was a witch. He completely cleaned off his altar, even scraped at the hard wax on the surface with a knife, and locked up all his herbs, gems and crystals in the cabinet, the doors padlocked shut and the only key coming with him on their trip. His grimoire was safely secured in his backpack, unease running through his veins when he thought about leaving it behind for anyone to see. Those were _his_ spells, _his_ rituals, and the only other person who was allowed to glimpse under the cover of that notebook was his Mama.  
  
He was okay with Debbie thinking he was a plant freak (she lived with Ian for the past few years anyway, so she should be used to it by now) but letting another person in on his deepest secret wasn’t something he was prepared to do yet. Having Ian know was enough.  
  
Mickey still was weary about even practicing in front of Ian, inclined to do his spells and rituals in private, just like Ian was inclined to take his pills behind a closed bathroom door. They were open with each other, honest, but they both still preferred to keep some things personal. And Ian never pushed, rarely asked questions, just accepted Mickey’s want to be alone with grace and would leave the room without Mickey even asking him to. Ian just _knew_ .  
  
Mickey always shared his herbal remedies with Ian though, felt it selfish to keep things like that to himself. His calming tea was one of Ian’s favorites, and Mickey even tweaked the recipe at times to help with Ian’s racing thoughts and paranoia when his pills just weren’t holding up their end of the bargain.  
  
He didn’t want Ian to rely to heavily on his remedies though, didn’t want him falling back on Mickey’s power and abilities and let his own rituals and routines fall to the wayside. Herbal remedies and magic couldn’t fix everything and maintaining a fucked up brain chemistry was one of those things that was best left up to science. But that didn’t mean Mickey couldn’t aid in easing Ian’s discomfort when science failed.  
  
He really didn’t fucking want Debbie in his apartment, in his home, his space, but the thought of some of his plants that need daily care withering and dying while he was away was enough to feel a tangible pang in his chest.  
  
Keeping all the plants in his apartment alive was a lot of work, even for a forest witch with an avid plant enthusiast as a partner. They required a lot of care and love and Mickey never left them alone for more than a few hours, didn’t trust anyone with their care except for Ian. But they were living, breathing, things and just like Mickey wouldn’t leave a dog alone for those few days, he couldn’t leave his plants without knowing that they were going to be getting the nutrients and love they deserved in his absence.  
  
So when Ian suggested maybe having Debbie come over while they were gone and take care of everything, Mickey reluctantly agreed. Besides Fiona she was the most capable Gallagher and the only one that Mickey was semi-okay with having over. Fiona would judge too much, look at the surroundings with distaste and try to convince Ian he couldn’t live like that, that he deserved better. Lip was just as judgemental as Fiona, would never let it go about how they practically lived outside. And Carl, well, Carl was a fucking idiot and would probably smoke all of Mickey’s weed and let all the other plants die as he vegged on the couch.  
  
Debbie was the only option.  
  
Mickey was sweeping up the last pile of dirt and fallen leaves when the soft knock came at the door, he had lowered his wards a few minutes before her arrival so she could cross the threshold. Ian jumped up from where he was seated on the couch with his iPad (lazy fucker barely helped with the cleaning) and pranced over to the door, pulling it open wide with a flourish.  
  
“Debs! Hey!” he said enthusiastically, pulling her in for a quick hug, his hand rubbing up and down her back.  
  
“Hey you! Feel like I haven’t seen you in a month unless you’re coming to pick up more clothes,” she said into Ian’s shoulder as she returned the hug with just as much enthusiasm.  
  
Ian laughed and pulled away, guiding her into the apartment and closing the door behind them.  
  
“Woah,” Debbie said as soon as she walked in, feet frozen as she gazed wide eyed at all the plants and flowers that resided in Mickey’s apartment. Mickey looked down, embarrassed, and rubbed the back of his neck. He cleared his throat nervously before he spoke.  
  
“Yeah, I know it’s a lot but you don’t gotta worry about all the plants, just a few. I wrote everything down for ya,” he mumbled before he walked over to the kitchen table, picking up the paper filled with his chicken scratch instructions and Ian’s meticulous diagrams of which plants pertained to which instruction.  
  
“Is that a fucking beehive?” Debbie practically yelled and Mickey’s head snapped up so fast to look at the hive that was indeed buzzing with activity in the corner. Fuck, he may have forgotten about that beehive and the colony of butterflies that like to hang out here. Not to mention the pond in his fucking bathroom or the birds that like to perch on his open windows looking for berries.  
  
“Um, yeah,” was all Mickey said in reply, shrugging his shoulders when Debbie looked at him with incredulous eyebrows.  
  
“Don’t worry Debs, none of the bees will sting you, Mick’s got ‘em well trained,” Ian said with a wink, coming over to sling his arm affectionately over Mickey’s shoulders.  
  
“You...train bees?” Debbie said, voice skeptical, face screwed up in confusion.  
  
Mickey huffed and shrugged Ian’s arm off his shoulder, he was getting increasingly more agitated the longer Debbie stood in his apartment, in his fucking personal forest. He was a private person, didn’t like other people in his space and rifling through his shit and Debbie was going to be alone, unsupervised, in his apartment for two whole days.  
  
“No, I don’t fuckin’ - can we focus here, please? We got a lotta shit to go over,” he said, crossing his arms and huffing through his nose. His eyes were wide and panicked, eyebrows climbing further and further up his forehead. He was getting overwhelmed already, feeling crowded and invaded and he just wanted to lock himself in his bedroom while the two of them went over everything out here so Mickey didn’t have to endure Debbie’s judging glances and snide remarks.  
  
Ian sensed it, Ian _knew_ , and he walked over to Mickey and grabbed onto his bicep, squeezing gently in reassurance. “Hey,” he said softly, “it’s okay. It’s just Debbie, she’s seen weirder shit than a fucking beehive in someone’s house or a toad in their bathtub.”  
  
“There’s a toad in your bathtub?” Debbie asked, standing up on her toes to peek over Ian’s shoulder.  
  
Ian whipped around and the look he must have thrown her was enough to have her backing away and nodding her head, hands raised in a placating manner.  
  
Ian turned back around, his face still soft and kind, losing all the stone it had three seconds earlier when looking at Debbie.  
  
“It’s gonna be fine, alright? Let’s just go over the instructions and show her everything. She’s a real quick learner and our plants are in good hands.”  
  
_Our_ plants. Somewhere along the line “your plants” had become “our plants.”  
_  
_ Mickey deflated, his fight instincts slowly dissipating the longer Ian ran his thumb lightly over the skin of his bicep and looked at him with that soft smile.  
  
He took a deep breath and lowered his arms, nodding his head at Ian. “Okay, okay let’s go.”  
  
For the next hour and a half they went over everything. Ian was correct, Debbie was a quick learner and she was fucking smart too. She listened very intently, took photos and notes on her phone and had a few follow up questions of her own that Mickey was eager to answer. Ian only had to be reigned in a handful of times, launching into in depth lectures about the biology of some of the plants when all Debbie really needed to know was which ones needed fucking water and how many hours of light per day.  
  
But it was hard for Mickey to stop Ian when he got like this - his excitement infectious, knowledge deep and passionate. Mickey could literally listen to him speak about plants all day, would listen raptly while he spoke of chloroplasts and cells, of mutations and adaptations. It was all vastly interesting to Mickey (didn’t help that Ian looked so fucking adorable during these tangents, face bright and hands flailing) although to the seventeen year old teenager it was all extremely boring and unnecessary and Mickey left it up to her to break up these information sessions with a practiced ease.  
  
When the whole ordeal was over, Mickey was fifty-percent more comfortable about letting Debbie into his apartment for a few days. That didn’t stop him from threatening her the tiniest amount when he was handing his key over though.  
  
“If anyone, and I mean fucking _anyone_ , comes in here with you, I’ll know,” he said as he took the key off his keyring. Debbie gave a little disbelieving chuckle that had Mickey looking up at her with raised brows.  
  
“You think I’m kidding? Anyone steps past that door that ain’t you is gonna be in for some serious shit. So don’t test me and always come _alone_ ,” he said the last word with emphasis as he placed the key into her palm, trapping her slightly trembling hand between both of his own.  
  
Debbie looked at Ian with wide eyes, looking for him to be laughing or shaking his head at how absolutely humorous Mickey was being. But she was only met with a definitive nod and serious eyes.  
  
“I won’t bring anyone with me, I promise,” she said and Mickey let go of her hand, charmed key resting in her palm. She didn’t know it, but she had sealed the spell that Mickey silently put on the key when she promised to come alone. Anyone who entered the house aided by the use of that key that wasn’t Deborah Gallagher would be met with violent stomach pains and nauseating dizziness.  
  
Mickey wasn’t taking any chances. He knew what teenagers got up to when they had an empty house.  
  
Secure in the knowledge that she wouldn’t bring over any unsuspecting guests, he went on to give her just a few more ground rules before dismissing her from the apartment. “Don’t touch my fuckin’ weed plants, only smoke the bag I left for you, there’s plenty in there for two days. And...leave the toad in the bathroom alone, alright? He’s cranky, but he’ll give you some privacy if you just ask.”  
  
“What the fuck,” he heard her mumble under her breath, confusion stitched across her face, staring at the key like it held all the answers to her questions.  
  
Mickey huffed. “Listen, I know this shit is weird, a’ight? I know this ain’t fuckin’ normal. Who has fucking toads and beehives in their apartments? I’m not asking you to understand, I’m just asking you to be respectful of my shit and don’t ask too many questions, okay? Don’t kill my fuckin’ plants or animals and we won’t have any problems.”  
  
“It’s really not that weird Debs, you get used to it real quick. And Marcus isn’t that bad!” Ian chimed in from behind them.  
  
Mickey scoffed, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Marcus was a fucking nightmare, Ian just didn’t speak toad.    
  
Mickey practically pushed Debbie out the door when all the other pleasantries and goodbyes were doled out, his capacity for having someone in his home who _wasn’t_ Ian was maxed out for the day. For the next fucking decade, actually.  
  
“Alright, four o’clock, be here. Alone,” Mickey reiterated before closing the door in her face, locking it and collapsing against the wood with a deep sigh. “I need a fuckin’ smoke,” he mumbled.  
  
Ian laughed and walked forward to wrap his arms around Mickey’s shoulders, placing a kiss to the top of his head. “What? That went well! You did good. Debs is cool, you have nothing to worry about,” Ian breathed into his hair.  
  
Mickey huffed out a disbelieving scoff but found himself slowly relaxing in the warmth of Ian’s arms. He snuggled his face against Ian’s chest and wrapped his own arms around Ian’s midsection, squeezing gently.  
  
“You hungry?” he asked, voice muffled against Ian’s chest.  
  
“Fucking starving,” Ian replied and after a beat he added, “you charmed that key, didn’t you?”  
  
Mickey just looked up at him with a smirk before pushing him away playfully.  
  
They ate lunch, finished cleaning what they could and put fresh sheets on the bed if Debbie decided to stay the night for convenience purposes. Mickey didn’t have much in ways of entertainment. No cable, no internet and a television that was almost as old as he was but still played DVD’s perfectly fine. On the page of plant care instructions he wrote down the neighbors WiFi password that he had been using for the last two years without complaint if she felt so inclined.  
  
And then they were off, the stench of Chicago slowly filtering out through the cars open windows as they made the eight hour journey through Wisconsin to Northern Michigan.  
  
The change was drastic from the busy, clotted streets coming out of Chicago to the rural and spacious highway cutting through Wisconsin. There was nothing to see, nothing to look at but wide open fields and the oncoming trucks.  
  
But the smell, the fucking smell of it all was driving Mickey crazy.  
  
It was so crisp. So clear and clean even though they were on a highway that was littered with trash and debris on the side, plumes of polluted grey smoke puffing out from the tops of every truck. Chicago had a way of smothering any and all smells of nature, the industrial stench of the city just seeped into everything, lingering and suffocating and Mickey couldn’t help himself from taking large lungfuls of fresh air with every opportunity.  
  
If he could get away with it, he would hang his head outside the window like a fucking dog.  
  
The sun was just starting to set, the clear blue sky slowly getting painted with broad strokes of pink and orange, sunbeams cresting off the endless sea of golden corn stalks making it look like they were glowing. Mickey breathed in deep and closed his eyes for a moment.  
  
He had never really been out of Chicago except for the few runs he took to Indiana with his father. The change of scenery was exhilarating as much as it was frightening. Concrete and fences was all he knew. Fields and fresh air were utterly foreign and the shock to his senses made his whole body feel like it was filled with softly buzzing static.  
  
When he opened his eyes again the sky had completely changed colors, none of the blue from earlier present but the sun still burning brightly at the bottom of the horizon. Mickey let out a sigh and turned to look over at Ian.  
  
They hadn’t talked much since they started driving, both of them content to make the journey in each other’s company with the radio softly crooning in the background.  
  
Ian was beautiful, Mickey knew that, but sometimes the sight of him took his breath away regardless. His beauty always seemed to radiate brighter when the sun was setting, the colors of the sky matched perfectly with everything that Ian was; vibrant, alive, shining.  
  
Sunsets always brought Mickey back to the first time they hung out together on the roof, when they both bared their souls to a stranger and were met with love and acceptance immediately. And if Mickey was being honest with himself, he knew that day was the day he fell in love with Ian. His body knew it before his mind did. Mother knew it too, it’s why she had been pushing them together so forcefully.  
  
Ian turned his head, breaking Mickey out of his sappy thoughts and he looked away with a slight blush, like Ian could read his mind.  
  
“Whatcha looking at?” Ian said, an affectionate grin playing on his lips.  
  
“How stupid your hair looks blowing in the wind like that,” Mickey replied with a smirk.  
  
Ian laughed and ran a hand through his hair, lingering on the back of his head for a moment before he rested it against the open window again, his hair immediately going back to it’s unruly state, whirling around from the force of his open window.  
  
Mickey lied. It didn’t look stupid at all.  
  
Just when Mickey was about to suggest pulling over for some food soon there was a loud bang, the car starting to sputter and jerk.  
  
“Shit.”  
  
“The fuck was that?”  
  
“Tire blew I think. Fuck,” Ian said, a nervous exhale leaving his lips as he started to pull the car over towards the side of the road.  
  
“You got a spare?” Mickey asked, leaning forward to look out the side mirror to see if the tire had blown to pieces, expecting to see bits of rubber scattered across the concrete.  
  
“Yeah, got one in the trunk thankfully. This fucking sucks,” he mumbled the last bit under his breath as he put the car into park, turning the engine off completely before exiting the car.  
  
Mickey followed, slamming the door shut behind him and pulling the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, immediately popping a stick into his mouth. He lit it, taking a deep inhale and blowing the smoke through his nose, the rays from the setting sun reflecting off the opaque cloud and making it look like he was breathing fucking fire.    
  
Out here, without the wind from the open window whipping past his ears, he could hear small sounds he hadn’t heard in a long time. Crickets singing their song in the high grass, the rustling of branches and leaves from the gentle breeze, and the low sound of wings flapping in the distance accompanied by high pitched squeaks and clicks.  
  
“You hear that?” Mickey asked, somewhat breathless. He had never heard that sound before, his body hummed with joy.  
  
“Hear what?” Ian asked from his position behind the vehicle. He was rummaging around in the trunk, moving all their shit around to get the spare tire underneath the carpet.  
  
“Fuckin’ bats,” Mickey said, catching a glimpse of one sweeping down quickly to swallow some bugs before disappearing back under the cover of the trees, its silhouette moving gracefully through the dusty blue sky.  
  
Ian stood up straight, car jack and tire iron in hand. He looked up towards the trees, face screwed up a bit as he tried to listen and Mickey huffed out a small laugh at this adorable idiot.  
  
“Can you understand them?” Ian said, looking at Mickey.  
  
“Yeah…” Mickey said, amazed, his smile growing larger and larger with each exhale of breath. “There’s a group of ‘em, just telling each other where all the fucking bugs are, two of ‘em are arguing over a roosting spot in that tree over there,” he pointed across the highway towards a solitary tree in the field, “that fuckin’ echolocation shit is so cool.”  
  
He paused his rambling, his smile still wide and amazed as he turned to look back at Ian, who was just looking at Mickey so softly, so fondly, that Mickey’s cheeks started flushing a slight pink in embarrassment. He pulled on his cigarette again, looking back up towards to sky to watch the bats continue to dip and dive to catch bugs.  
  
Ian had all the shit ready to change the tire, the spare propped up on the bumper of the car ready to get down to business.  
  
“You ever done this before?” Mickey asked around the cigarette, taking another pull as he stood back and watched Ian. Ian hummed an affirmative as he laid down on his side next to the car, hand feeling around the undercarriage trying to find a sturdy spot to place the jack.  
  
“I actually had a tire pop when I was taking my fucking license exam, so that was a great lesson to learn,” Ian said with a small laugh, placing the jack underneath the car once he found a secure spot. He sat up, cranking the arm of the jack and lifting the car slowly off the ground.  
  
“Can’t you just fucking wave your hands around and magically fix this for us?” Ian said, dropping his head backwards to look up at Mickey with a grin, tongue poking playfully through his teeth.  
  
“You know it doesn’t work like that, fuckhead,” Mickey replied, kicking his foot out to lightly tap Ian in the lower back. Ian scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking back at the job at hand, still turning the crank on the jack, the car lifting little by little.  
  
Mickey grinned around his cigarette, taking one more pull before tossing it out into the road.  
  
“Need any help?” he asked.  
  
“Nah, I got this, kinda a one man job,” Ian replied.  
  
“Oh, okay tough guy,” Mickey said with a laugh. Ian reached backwards to swat at Mickey’s ankles with his free hand.  
  
When the car was safely jacked up, Ian kneeled and started loosening the bolts. The car was old, the bolts and lug nuts rusted and not eager to move from the position they had been in for so long. Ian’s muscles were bulging, small grunts leaving his lips as he exerted himself.  
  
Mickey’s eyebrows went up. “Changing a tire usually this fucking pornographic or you tryin’ to get me hard, Gallagher?” he said with a smirk.  
  
Ian laughed, a full hearty belly laugh and paused his work to flip Mickey off. “Fuck you. These bolts are rusted as fuck. Go away and let me do this without all the heckling, gotta get it done before we completely lose the light,” Ian replied.  
  
Mickey threw his hands up and did as he was told, walking backwards towards the line of trees behind him, taking one last lingering look at Ian working on the tire before he turned around.  
  
He breathed in deep, fully inviting the brisk smell of nature to flow through his lungs. September was always a special time; still clutching onto the last vestiges of the bright, hot summer, not completely willing to succumb to the decay and death that was infiltrating slowly but surely. He’s always loved September,  he just never got to truly _feel_ it back home.  
  
Everything was still vibrant and green for the most part, but pockets of orange and copper were taking over the trees, a few leaves here and there already littering the ground, crunching underneath his feet. It smelled amazing, the mix between the lush life and crisp decomposition.  
  
He stood there for a while, continuing to take deep breaths and listening to the slaps of the bats leathery wings flapping as they flew around feeding, the sound of the crickets getting louder and louder the darker it got, Ian’s grunts and clangs of metal behind him getting drowned out by the beauty of nature.  
  
His thumb was throbbing. He wondered how being in the forest was going to affect his body if just standing near some small woods was awakening parts of himself he didn’t know he had.  
  
Mickey turned around a few minutes later, feeling relaxed and comfortable despite the fact he was on the side of a highway at dusk. Ian had finished changing the tire, standing up from the ground and wiping the dirt off his ass before he started gathering everything to throw it back into the trunk.  
  
Mickey walked back over towards the car, climbing up onto the hood, feet propped up on the bumper. It had gotten significantly darker now, the sky still somewhat lighter on the horizon. The only thing illuminating the highway was the extremely slow flow of passing cars and the bright beams cresting off the rising moon, so bright he could see outlines of the top of the trees and that small broken down barn in the distance.  
  
He relaxed back against the glass, looking up at the sky and what he saw took his breath away. The stars were never this bright back home, the light pollution from the city drowning out most of it, just small clusters of stars poking through the unnatural glow. It was unreal how vast and endless the night sky was out here, Mickey could actually see the fucking Big Dipper.  
  
And it made him feel so, so fucking small.  
  
The momentum from the trunk slamming shut shook the car a bit and soon Ian laid out next to him on the hood, moving around until he was comfortable. Mickey heard him emit a small gasp himself once he finally got a chance to observe the night sky.  
  
“Holy shit,” he whispered, like he was afraid if he spoke to loud the stars would scatter and disappear, like if he blew on a dandelion.  
  
“I know,” Mickey replied, his voice just as hushed as Ian’s.  
  
“It’s fucking beautiful.”  
  
“I know,” Mickey said again.  
  
They sat in silence for a bit, both of them just taking in the sight and basking in the glow of the moon, the soft light affecting Mickey more than it was affecting Ian. His body had been tingling for a while now, ever since they left the city and hit the countryside, but he was certain that his eyes were going to start fucking twinkling soon like his mother’s used to.  
  
Ian broke the silence, turning his head to gaze at Mickey’s soft illuminated face. His mouth opened and closed a few times, tongue poking out to lick at his lips, and then he spoke.  
  
“Mick, there’s been something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about and I--I just didn’t know the right time to say it,” Ian said, his voice sounding small and scared and Mickey’s panic levels rose exponentially.  
  
Ian’s own eyes grew wide as he took in the look on Mickey’s face. “Oh, god, no, it’s like, nothing about you. I mean, it _is_ about you, but not like that,” he said, reaching over to grasp onto Mickey’s hand, squeezing in reassurance. Mickey deflated a little, but the panic still seized his throat.  
  
“A year or so before I met you I was real fucked up. I mean, _really_ fucked up. Remember how I told you about the um, about the mania? About how I have this abundance of energy that feels like it never fucking goes away?” he paused, waited for Mickey’s nod of approval.  
  
Mickey remembered Ian telling him about this stuff, after the last depressive episode hit. Ian’s shrink recommended talking to Mickey about the warning signs, things to keep an eye on so he could maybe help Ian realize when a spiral was coming when Ian himself didn’t see it. The things he told him weren’t pretty, about the mania and the hypersexuality, the depression and the self harm and Mickey wanted so badly to fucking heal him, wishing his powers were capable of something like that.  
  
But they weren’t, and they never would be.  
  
Ian continued on. “And the thing about mania is that it feels so good, you feel so fucking untouchable that you don’t want it to go away. But it makes you reckless, real fucking reckless. I was um, I was working at this gay club for awhile as a dancer, living in some fuckin’ run down building filled with meth heads and I was so goddamn sick but I couldn’t see it, the mania wouldn’t let me. And, and to be honest I didn’t fuckin’ _want_ to see it.  
  
“I just, I just felt so fuckin’ _good,_ and I had so many ideas, ideas I thought were fucking revolutionary and life changing but I would forget about them as soon as the next idea floated around. I wasn’t sleeping, was barely eating, but that didn’t matter because my fucking nose was clogged with so much coke that the mania never fucking went away because I wouldn’t let it.  
  
“I was,” he paused, took a real big breath of fresh air and wiped the few stubborn tears that leaked out the side of his eyes away a little aggressively. Mickey squeezed his hand, letting him know that he was still here, still listening.  
  
“I was fucking so many random guys, didn’t care where, didn’t care who. I actually ended up fucking someone in the middle of the dancefloor on my goddamn break, everyone still dancing around us, watching. It just, it was just never enough, ya know? I-I couldn’t fucking stop and I wasn’t being safe, at all. Ended up getting fucking syphilis, didn’t even know it for awhile.  
  
“Anyway. I um, when I eventually crashed, it was bad, real bad. I dragged myself back home somehow, ignored everyone’s questions because I had been gone for months. Didn’t leave my bed for days. Didn’t think I would ever feel that good again, didn’t think I would ever even feel fucking _normal._ I was tired of everyone treating me like I was made of glass, like I was some sick, broken fucking freak. Tried to kill myself.”  
  
“Jesus Christ Ian,” Mickey said softly, the tears that were pooling in the corners of his eyes spilling when he blinked.  
  
“Swallowed a bunch of pills. Lip fucking found me on the kitchen floor, in the same spot my mother slit her wrists on Thanksgiving,” Ian said with a wet laugh that was filled with so much disdain, so much regret, “the fuckin’ irony, huh? Told myself and everyone else that I didn’t have what she had and I ended up doing the same exact fucking things she did but I was too fucking sick to see it.  
  
“I stayed in the hospital for about two months after that. Just worked on getting better, admitting to myself for the first time that I _was_ fucking sick, that I did need help, but it took a long time for me to fucking say it. When I was discharged I was still kinda in denial, convinced myself they forced me to say that shit. I flushed my pills a few times, got extremely fuckin’ paranoid, thought the orderlies from the hospital were gonna come after me. Swung at Debbie with a fucking baseball bat because I thought she was one of them.  
  
“It took Debs telling me she was afraid of me, not _for_ me, _of_ me, to really wake the fuck up and get my shit sorted. That’s-that’s my little sister, ya know? She shouldn’t fucking be afraid of me, I’m supposed to protect her. Started taking my shit regularly, going to the therapist once a month, actively working on getting better, because if I couldn’t do it for myself at least I could do it for her.  
  
“Then I got the job at the Nursery because I had to contribute something. I mean, my family is dirt fucking poor and my meds were draining the fucking life out of everyone and I was already enough of a burden as it was. There, at the Nursery, is when I really started feeling better. It’s where I found my passion, ya know? I mean, it wasn’t my fucking army dreams like before but that was never gonna happen, shot that to shit real fast.”  
  
Ian paused, for the first time in what felt like forever he had to collect himself and find his words. He wiped his face again with the hand that wasn’t still clutching onto Mickey’s, his palm glistening with moisture.  
  
“Then I saw you one day, staring at the fucking orchids like they had personally offended you-- which, now that I know, they probably fucking did,” he paused to laugh, breaking up the serious atmosphere momentarily. The sides of Mickey’s mouth lifted in a gentle smile at the sound. Ian’s laugh quickly petered out and he clenched his eyes shut tight, swallowing thickly over the lump in his throat and opening those beautiful eyes again before he continued.  
  
“And-and it made me feel a way I hadn’t felt in a long, _long_ fucking time. It just-it just felt so fuckin’ innocent, ya know? This stupid little crush I had on you felt so fucking pure, and I hadn’t- I hadn’t felt innocent or pure in fucking years. Maybe I never really did. That’s when I knew, knew I would be okay eventually. That even though I would always have this stupid fucked up part of me I could still have a fucking life. That I was capable of having crushes and relationships and feelings like a _normal_ fucking person. I knew my life wouldn’t be easy, but to feel that rush, that excitement of having an innocent crush and experiencing things that make us fuckin’ human was worth sticking around for, was worth fighting for.”  
  
Ian turned so he was laying on his side, the sound of the hood denting and popping with his movements not even shattering this tender bubble they found themselves in. Tear glistened eyes looked into tear glistened eyes, so softly, so fondly and not an ounce of hatred or fear racing through them.  
  
“You changed my fucking life, Mickey, in the most beautiful way. You didn’t even know me but you saved me. You fucking saved me,” he said again softly, tears leaking down his cheeks now but he showed no signs of caring.  
  
Mickey reached over and wiped some of them away, the wetness gleaming on his green thumb like morning dew on fresh cut grass. Ian reached up and covered Mickey’s hand with his own, keeping him anchored there.  
  
“I love you, Mickey,” Ian whispered, eyes still unwavering but welling up with a fresh batch of tears, “and I’ll always fuckin’ love you for what you did for me, for what you continue to do for me, for who you _are._ I love you, and I’m _all_ in but I just wanted you to know how fucking bad it can get before--before you decide to be all in too.”  
  
Mickey felt like he got hit by a truck, the emotional waterfall that Ian just unleashed on him had his heartbeat racing dangerously fast and he was sure that Ian could feel his palm beginning to sweat where it was still placed against his freckled cheek.  
  
_I love you,_ Mickey hadn’t heard those words since he was nine years old, when his Mama tucked him into bed for the last time the night before she died, whispering those words softly against his forehead.  
  
But the words didn’t scare him, not at all and even though he’s only known Ian for a short amount of time he already knew that he was going to spend the rest of his life with his guy or fucking die trying.  
  
He felt liberated, free, fucking _whole_ for the first time in his short miserable life. Ian did that, made him feel fucking free. Ian did the same thing for Mickey that he so beautifully said Mickey did for him. He saved him, _Ian_ saved Mickey. Saved him from a life of loneliness, from a life of feeling like a freak for different reasons than Ian, but both for reasons they couldn’t control, for reasons they inherited from their mother.  
  
Mickey gave Ian a delicate smile and squeezed tenderly onto his cheek, exhaling a small disbelieving laugh, his chest vibrating with unbridled joy and happiness.  
  
“Ian, I’ve _been_ all in, since day fuckin’ one,” Mickey said fiercely, his eyes darting back and forth between Ian’s puffy red rimmed ones, “No one has ever fucking made me feel the way you make me feel, I’ve--I’ve never giving anyone the chance, didn’t fucking want to ‘til you came around. You’re the first person I’ve ever shown fucking... _anything_ ; my magic, my plants, my entire ass,” they both chuckled at that, the sound shaky and wet but beautiful nonetheless.  
  
Mickey hesitated before continuing, licking his dry lips and biting down on the skin of his bottom one momentarily to collect himself. He knew he was ready to say those three words, to set Ian’s mind at ease and let him know that he felt the same, he just didn’t know how fucking hard it would be to get them out.  
  
“I’m all in,” he repeated, “your fucked up brain and all. I…” he paused, swallowing thickly, “I love that fuckin’ brain and--and I love you,” he said, letting out a large exhale afterwards, like he had been holding his breath the entire time.  
  
“Really?” Ian said, so softly, his voice so thick with disbelief that it made Mickey’s heart ache in a way that felt so fucking familiar because he knew that feeling; that feeling of being unlovable, of being too tarnished that no one could see the shining silver underneath, that feeling of withering away while waiting for someone to come around who noticed that there was something beautiful underneath all that rust if you just cared enough to polish it.  
  
“Yes, really. You think I go around fuckin’ saying that shit to everyone? Nah. You’re the first, and hopefully the last,” Mickey said, his voice soft.  
  
“Definitely the last,” Ian replied, a grand smile stretching across his face that almost beat out the moon with how bright it beamed.    
  
“C’mere,” Mickey said softly, a grin of his own ghosting across his face as he tipped his chin up in invitation.  
  
Their lips met softly, tenderly, a hum of contentment floating out of Ian’s mouth and landing on Mickey’s tongue. Even though it was tinged with salty tears, the kiss tasted sweeter than any bit of honey, than any fresh berry, than any piece of candy Mickey had ever tasted.  
  
Ian’s cheeks were still wet, his lips still trembling beneath Mickey’s, his breath still stuttering in his chest and the only thing Mickey could think to do to calm Ian’s nerves was pull him closer, push his lips against Ian’s a little bit tighter, dig his fingers into that red hair a little deeper.  
  
_I’m here, I’m here, I’m here_ his heart said to Ian as it beat against his ribcage, _And I’m not going anywhere._ _  
_  
Ian deflated against Mickey, his mouth opening up, inviting him in, breathing out a sigh of relief when their tongues touched, their movements picking up momentum as the kiss went on, still soft and slow but packed with _want_ and _love_ and Mickey’s body was humming for a completely different reason than before.  
  
He could still hear the crickets in the grass and the bats flying above them, could still feel the light of the moon softly brushing against his skin, could still taste Ian’s tears as those words he spoke so beautifully wrapped around Mickey’s heart like a piece of soft silk. But none of that mattered more than the feeling of Ian in his arms just like this.  
  
A car flew by, the bright headlights starling the two boys who for a few moments were completely alone under the blanket of stars, the moon their only witness. They pulled apart with a gasp, the wind from the speeding car whipping through their hair, shaking the car with its momentum and momentarily drowning out the sound of their heavy breathing.  
  
Ian let out a small laugh as they looked at each other with wide eyes, the moon shimmering in the watery depths of bright green and clear blue, two separate oceans pulled together by the shifting tides.  
  
Ian rested his forehead against Mickey’s, breathing in deep and closing his eyes. “We should get going,” he mumbled, licking his lips.  
  
Mickey hummed in agreement, but made no moves to extricate himself from the warmth and comfort that came from being wrapped in Ian’s arms. It didn’t matter the situation, it didn’t matter where they were, being in Ian’s embrace felt like home even though they were laying on top of a car on the side of a highway. His eyes bounced around Ian’s face, soaking in the tranquil look that painted over his features, a look of relaxation that Mickey had never seen grace his face before. Ian looked content. _Whole._  
  
Mickey saw a blinking out of the corner of his eye, on and off, on and off, moving locations with every new glow. He turned his head, Ian finally lifting away from his position and propping himself up on his elbows, the thin hood of the car popping again with his movements.  
  
“Fireflies,” Mickey said, a note of awe in his voice. There were dozens, possibly hundreds, blinking along the corn fields, illuminating the edge of the woods as they danced. On, off. On, off.  
  
Mickey remembered in movies he saw when he was younger, how kids would trap fireflies in jars and keep them on their bookshelves. Something natural to glow through the dark of their bedroom to keep the monsters at bay, safely hidden in their closets, only to find out come morning that the bugs had died in that jar, suffocated while trying to escape, wings snapping as they threw themselves against the glass.  
  
He knew it was cruel, he knew it was heartless to trap something that was alive and breathing, but he wanted so desperately to have a jar full of fireflies to shine through his darkest nights when he was huddled, terrified, in the corner of his room when his own monster barged through his bedroom door.  
  
Mickey had seen fireflies once or twice back home, but never in this capacity. It was breathtaking, how the glow of their bodies illuminated the night like a string of lights. Mickey reached his hand up, palm flat and reaching up towards the stars. An invitation.  
  
One landed on his thumb. Another on his pinky. A small cluster on his palm, the blinking of their lights making it look like his thumb was finally glowing like it used to. They rested there for a few moments, Mickey’s palm tingling as their tiny legs brushed across his skin,a small ball of light shining in his fist, and then they departed, back to flying through the night. Blinking, blinking, gone.  
  
“I love you,” Ian said in a breathy exhale, voice soft and sincere. Mickey looked over, Ian’s face dusted with admiration and bewilderment, the light from a nearby firefly illuminating the whites of those beautiful eyes, making them look even brighter than usual for one brief moment.  
  
Mickey leaned in for another kiss, quick but poignant, pulling back quickly as he rolled off the side of the car, landing gracefully on his feet.  
  
“Let’s get moving, we got places to be,” he said with a stretch, head tilting back to get another look at the bright stars.  
  
He heard the hood denting behind him as Ian moved from it, the door slamming as he got behind the wheel and kicked the engine into gear, the old piece of shit roaring back to life before settling into a quiet growl, the headlights flicking to life and lighting the path in front of them.  
  
Mickey stood outside the vehicle for a few more moments, taking a deep breath of the crisp air, hearing the sound of an owl hooting in the distance, letting this feeling settle deep into his chest, making a home for itself in the dark depths of his heart that was slowing getting brighter and brighter like a million trapped fireflies in a jar.  
  
He climbed back into the car and reached into his pocket for a much needed cigarette. He placed the stick between his lips, cupping his hand around the tip as he flicked his lighter a few times before it sparked to life, the smell of nicotine and burnt paper wafting through the car and floating out through the open windows.  
  
He leaned back in the seat and looked over to Ian, taking a deep inhale off the cigarette before passing it over. “You ready?” he asked, voice tight as he held in the smoke.  
  
Ian grabbed the cigarette, placing it between his lips and leaving it to rest there as he put the car into drive, checking his mirrors before pulling back out onto the long and welcoming stretch of concrete.  
  
“Let’s ride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!! hope you enjoyed!  
> once again, huge thanks to my wonderful beta, [Aleks](http://lewisnixoniii.tumblr.com/), this story wouldn't be the same without her support and insight.
> 
> keep your eyes peeled for the conclusion! ♥♥


	4. the meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!! I am so so sorry it took me so long to finish this, but it's finally done!! And without further ado....I present to you a 20k word finale to this wonderful journey. I hope it was worth the wait. ♥

The room was hot, the air thick and heavy like the humid summer heat got sucked out of the atmosphere and placed directly into this shitty motel room off of I-90. It was stifling, the open window not doing anything to alleviate the heat. The curtain was pulled open slightly, a gentle breeze disturbing the thick material and making it dance, the light from the flashing _Vacancy_ sign filling their otherwise pitch black room with bursts of purple every few seconds.  
  
Mickey let out a deep moan and gripped the starched sheets in his fists, pulling so hard it popped off the top corners of the mattress. But he didn’t care, he didn’t care at all, not when Ian was thrusting into him so fucking perfectly like that. His eyes were clenched shut, head thrown back against the pillow as he panted, clenching his teeth through a hiss before his tongue darted out to lick at his lips.  
  
“Oh fuck, oh fuck Mickey. Look at me,” Ian groaned, thrusting hard into Mickey’s body, Mickey shivering at the husky sound of Ian’s voice.  
  
His eyes dragged themselves open, bottom lip bitten between his teeth as he gazed up at Ian’s flushed and sweaty form above him. The light from the sign was casting Ian’s body in a haze every few seconds, illuminating his features in a dusty purple glow that would have taken Mickey’s breath away if there was any more oxygen left in his lungs.  
  
Ian looked so good, so fucking good, his hair shaggy and hanging down in a damp mess on his forehead, sweat droplets lining his top lip, eyes heavy lidded and blown out, looking goddamn ethereal with that obnoxious purple glow. Fuck.  
  
Ian had Mickey’s calves propped up on his broad, freckled shoulders, hands digging into his hips as he thrust so deep and slow into Mickey’s body, Mickey groaning with each push forward and he was gradually losing his fucking mind.  
  
“You look so good,” Ian whispered, mirroring Mickey’s thoughts and his voice sounded amazed and absolutely fucking raw as he thrust into Mickey again, moving so rhythmically it had Mickey choking on his own tongue. One of Ian’s hands left Mickey’s hip and ran up his thigh, fingernails scratching into the soft skin as it trailed higher and higher until it was resting on his ankle, thumb tenderly rubbing back and forth against the prominent bone.  
  
Ian lifted Mickey’s leg a bit, bringing his lips to the inside of his exposed calf and kissing it gently, mouthing at the patch of skin with reverence, his tongue eventually poking out to lick at the skin, humming to himself as he closed his eyes, teeth latching possessively onto the skin he was tenderly kissing not moments ago. Ian never once lost the fantastic cadence of his hips, rolling and thrusting into Mickey slowly but making sure each movement hit hard and deep.  
  
Mickey moaned, toes curling in pleasure. Now that he was looking, he couldn’t take his eyes off of Ian, not that he really wanted to anyway. He just looked so fucking _sexy,_ sweat dripping down his body from exertion, his chest and cheeks painted with what Mickey assumed was a deep pink color, but in the darkness of the room and with the pulsating purple from the sign it just made him look violet. His nipples were pointed and raw, raw from Mickey licking and then pinching them while he sucked Ian’s dick for a few minutes before they started, getting him properly hard and riled up to rail Mickey like he meant it. The hickeys forming on his neck and chest looked dark and painful, but Mickey knew how much Ian enjoyed Mickey’s lips sucking them into his skin.  
  
Ian picked up the pace a bit, skin slapping against skin loudly and Mickey had to close his eyes then, hands curling back into the sheets as he moaned deep and loud. Ian bit down onto his calf again, licking over the abused area and Mickey was somewhat aware of the fact that he would have a fucking hickey on his leg come morning. Freak.  
  
“God, you feel so good, holy shit,” Ian said, his breath coming out moist and hot, ghosting over the spit cooled patch of skin directly below his mouth. Mickey couldn’t do much to respond except to nod his head wildly against the pillow.  
  
This was the first time they were fucking without a condom, the first time there was absolutely nothing separating the two of them from being connected like this. Skin on skin, no latex to act as a barrier and _holy fuck_ was Ian correct. It felt _so_ good, so fucking right.  
  
It had been a silent conversation, Ian holding the wrapper up but hesitating, asking Mickey a question without even having to open his pretty mouth. Mickey just shook his head, barely noticeable but the grin that stretched over Ian’s face was enormous as he tossed the foil to the side and kissed Mickey fiercely.  
  
Ian was the first person Mickey had been with like this and even though he knew about Ian’s past he trusted him, trusted him with his fucking life and he knew that Ian wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t know with absolute certainty that he was clean. Ian would never take risks like that when it came to Mickey.  
  
“Ian,” Mickey whined, small gasps and breathless huffs leaving his lips as he writhed underneath his boyfriend. Ian just hummed and thrust into him harder, the headboard smacking against the wall. Ian laughed at that, then did it again, not giving a shit about whoever was occupying the other room. Mickey grinned a bit as well, the pounding of the headboard accompanying the pounding of his heart.  
  
Then Ian was pushing forward, lowering his body down closer towards Mickey, Mickey’s knees pushed up against his chest and he groaned from the stretch in his legs as well as how deeply Ian’s cock had settled into him from the change of position. He didn’t have time to question anything, just gave into the burn in his thighs as Ian captured his mouth in a slow kiss, the rhythm of his hips matching the movement of his lips.  
  
Mickey’s hands finally unclenched from the sheets, one hand shooting up to tangle his fingers in that sweat drenched red hair while the other grabbed onto Ian’s shoulder, nails digging into the pale skin as another jolt of pleasure pulsed through his body. The kiss was lazy and slow, Mickey’s mouth having a hard time catching up from its time spent clenched between his own teeth for so long.  
  
He felt so fucking exposed, chest cracked open, willing and ready to submit himself over to Ian like this. This slow, passionate, fucking intimate way of loving each other that neither of them have ever had before. It was different, their pace not nearly as frantic and hurried as usual. Sex had always felt different with Ian, but this was on a whole other level, a level they had never reached before until now.  
  
Because there was this current pulsing through them like electricity, circuits fused together by heat and smoldering silver to form one working unit that could light up an entire fucking room with just a tiny spark. There was love here; in this shitty, hot as fuck motel room in the middle of bumfuck Michigan is where their future and dedication to one other was firmly cemented and declared with each gasp of air and mumbled moan. There was trust and support building and building with every thrust forward and with every annoying pulse of purple light illuminating their joined forms on the tacky as fuck bedspread.  
  
Ian’s lips broke away from Mickey’s, biting down on his bottom one, quick and sharp before pulling away completely. But he didn’t go far, his damp forehead resting against Mickey’s equally damp forehead as he thrust into him faster, lips brushing against each other as their moans and gasps mingled together in the shared space between them.  
  
Lips started trailing along Mickey’s jawline, well placed nips digging into his skin as Ian traveled further and further down until he started mouthing at Mickey’s neck, groaning into his ministrations.  
  
“I love you,” he whispered so quietly between licks and bites, and Mickey’s fingers dug into his hair tighter, gripped onto those locks as he thrust back against Ian as best as he could from this position, his body absolutely tingling with pleasure, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.  
  
He would never tire of hearing those words, knows that his heart will skip a beat every single time those three syllables slip passed Ian’s lips.  
  
“Touch me,” Mickey said, all breathy and desperate. Desperate to feel Ian’s hands everywhere despite the fact that he was completely enveloping him already. He especially wanted to feel those long fingers wrapped around his swollen and aching dick. He’s not sure how he held out for so fucking long, but he was ready now, ready to let go.  
  
And holy _fuck_ was he ready to feel Ian let go inside of him for the first time. To feel that hot rush claiming him from the inside, something he’s never felt before and he was so, so fucking grateful that it was with Ian and not some random scumbag he’d never see again.  
  
Ian groaned into his neck, placing one more stinging bite onto Mickey’s skin before sitting back on his haunches, Mickey sighing in relief as the stretch in his thighs dissipated. Ian ramped up the pace of his thrusts, the headboard smacking against the wall every time now like the beat of a drum on the front lines.  
  
Ian’s hand ran down Mickey’s chest, watching his fingers delicately graze over Mickey’s soft skin, eyes wide with lust. He pinched Mickey’s nipple with a sly grin, groaning when Mickey hissed at the slight pain, then kept trailing down his abdomen until those long, lean fingers curled around Mickey’s swollen cock and gave a few tight tugs.  
  
Mickey gasped, one hand coming up to grip onto Ian’s forearm in a white knuckled grip, his nails bound to leave indents in that pretty pale skin. He shivered, his whole body feeling like it was full of electricity as Ian fucked into him deep and stroked him just as quick as hips were thrusting.  
  
“You close?” Mickey managed to gasp out in between moans, hips moving involuntarily as he pushed up into Ian’s fist.  
  
“Baby, I’ve been close since we fuckin’ started,” Ian said with a laugh, the sides of his mouth pulled up in a cute grin as he rut against Mickey with a purpose.  
  
Mickey laughed too, reaching down to get as good a grip as he could on Ian’s ass. He squeezed, pulled his boyfriend in closer as he clenched down around him, licking his smirking lips.  
  
“Then cum, cum in me,” he said, his voice deep and lusty as fuck and Ian’s movements stuttered through his own resulting moan.  
  
He threw his head back, looking up at the ceiling as he thrust into Mickey faster, the headboard definitely leaving a dent in the thin plaster of the wall. His breathing got quicker and quicker, a blush creeping up his chest. But his hand never faltered on Mickey’s cock.  
  
With a punched out groan, Ian came hot and quick inside of Mickey and Mickey’s mouth dropped open, his back arching as he moaned loudly feeling that hot rush inside of him. It felt weird, filthy, but still so incredibly fucking hot. He was _Ian’s_ , Ian’s and no one else's.  
  
“Oh my god. Oh fuck, Mickey,” Ian whispered as he continued to thrust into Mickey, milking his orgasm for all it was worth, his cock still twitching through his release, thighs tense and trembling against the back of Mickey’s own.  
  
The heat in the room was stifling, the thick air making it hard to breathe. The feel of Ian hot and hard and wet inside of him, still thrusting, still giving Mickey everything he had despite the exhaustion clearly evident on his face. His presence was completely enveloping Mickey and infiltrating all his senses. Those three words echoing around in his head. That fucking purple goddamn light.  
  
He couldn’t handle it anymore, it was too much, too overwhelming. Mickey’s back bent like a bow, a moan pouring from his throat as he convulsed around Ian, releasing over Ian’s still moving hand and splattering along his own stomach as his body jerked with his own release. His eyes slipped closed, another groan leaving his lips that Ian matched with a small sound of his own, that hand still milking Mickey’s cock until he was certain he was spent.  
  
Ian’s movements stopped, but he didn’t pull out quite yet. Instead, he leaned down and gently captured Mickey’s chapped and bitten pink lips in a soft kiss, both of them breathing deep through their nose. Mickey’s leg came up to wrap around Ian’s waist, pulling him in closer as their tongues tangled together in a tantalizing twirl. Ian’s unsoiled hand came up to rest against Mickey’s face his thumb brushing back and forth on the swell of his cheek as he sighed with content and settled deeper into Mickey.  
  
They laid like that for a few minutes, tangled up in each other as their bodies relaxed, placing chaste kisses to each others lips and giggling every so often.  
  
Eventually, Ian pulled out and Mickey had never felt so fucking empty while still being so full. Ian flopped onto his back, huffing out a breath through a grin as he placed his hand behind his head, his other hand resting on his chest and idly running his fingers through the coarse red hair.  
  
Mickey stared for a minute but everything was just purple, purple, fucking purple and it was driving him insane.  
  
“Fuck that fuckin’ light, Jesus Christ,” he said with an irritated growl before he sat up, cracked his back, and stomped over to the window, closing the barely open curtain with an unnecessary flourish. Ruining his fucking afterglow with a literal glow.  
  
There was a soft click and suddenly the room was flooded with a dull yellow light, much more preferable than the purple in Mickey’s opinion.  
  
“I don’t know man, you looked really fucking hot in that purple light if I’m being totally honest,” Ian said, the smile in his voice noticeable.  
  
Mickey just flipped him off.  
  
He could feel Ian’s cum slowing leaking out of his ass, causing an involuntary shiver to run up his spine. Fuck. That had felt so goddamn good and he kind of liked the feeling of it running down the back of his thighs, but he also knew that he needed to take a fucking shower.    
  
“Seriously, I really think purple is your color. You should wear it more often,” Ian said, completely sincerely and Mickey rolled his eyes at his boyfriend on his way over to the small bathroom in the corner of their room.  
  
“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey said, the blush creeping up his cheeks diminishing some of the bite in his reply.  
  
Ian sat up in a flash, reaching out and wrapping his long fingers around Mickey’s bony wrist, pulling him closer so he was standing between Ian’s spread legs. Ian grabbed onto Mickey’s ass with both hands, squeezing gently as he placed a few scattered kisses to Mickey’s exposed stomach. Mickey sighed, forever soft for this redheaded goof, and started running his fingers through his sweat soaked hair. Ian placed a few more languid kisses to Mickey’s exposed skin, his fingers running dangerously close to Mickey’s still loose and wet hole causing him to shiver.  
  
“Mmm, so squishy,” Ian said with a grin, nuzzling his nose into Mickey’s stomach, tightening his grip on Mickey’s ass.  
  
Mickey scoffed and pried Ian’s hands off his ass, stepping away from him and glaring at the fucking doofus when he burst out laughing. He pushed his hand into Ian’s face, shoving him backwards forcefully so the still laughing idiot fell back on the bed.  
  
“Fucking asshole,” Mickey said affectionately before he continued his journey over to the bathroom, uninterrupted this time.  
  
Once in the bathroom he showered quickly, the water ice cold and soothing his blazing hot skin. The pressure was amazing, sighing audibly as he washed the shitty complimentary shampoo out of his hair. He didn’t bring any of his own products, didn’t think he would need them, and now he was regretting it as he felt the grimy soap leave a residue behind on his skin.  
  
It’s something he’s been doing for about two years now, making his own soaps and shampoos. Store bought and mass produced stuff was too rough on his sensitive skin, left him feeling dry and itchy instead of clean and moisturized. He tried to ignore it when he was a teen, how sensitive his skin actually was to certain products and chemicals because men weren’t supposed to care about that type of stuff. Men aren’t supposed to moisturize and use lotions, men don’t give a shit if their shampoo made their hair feel brittle and dry like straw and men certainly don’t make their own fucking skin care products.  
  
The thing he probably hated to admit the most was the fact that because he was a witch his body was extra sensitive to certain cleaning solvents and chemicals. They were too harsh, too abrasive, and left behind a dull burning sensation whenever he used them.  
  
So he made his own, used his own plants and oils to make products that didn’t irritate his skin or cause his senses to go all out of whack but still cleaned his body all the same. Ian tried to convince him to start his own online store and sell them (the same way he tried to convince him to sell his veggies at the farmer’s market) but Mickey didn’t want to be _that_ gay. Being a witch who made his own goddamn shampoo and grew his own vegetables was gay enough.  
  
Besides, it felt kind of wrong and unnatural to sell something for profit that had become some personal and important to him. He didn’t want to make money off of his magic, that’s not how this shit worked. He wanted to help himself and the ones he loved with his powers as best as he could, he didn’t want to sell pieces of himself to some stranger on the street for some quick cash. That’s what his marijuana operation was for, reluctantly filling his mother’s old shoes and growing his own pot to sell to bigger distributors on the street corners.  
  
There was a loud banging on the door, his body jerking as he was startled out of his thoughts.  
  
“Mick? Sorry, I really gotta use the toilet,” Ian’s voice came from behind the closed door, loud but muffled.  
  
Mickey sighed. “You take your nighttime med?” he yelled over the sound of the water.  
  
“Yea…” Ian replied and Mickey didn’t have to see his face to know that Ian was looking down at his bare feet, embarrassed that his medication caused literal shitty reactions.  
  
“One second,” he said and finished rinsing his body before turning the water off completely. He pulled the curtain back, the rings creating an odd melody on the iron rod above as he pushed it to the side. He stepped out and rubbed the scratchy towel over his hair before wrapping it around his waist, a puddle of water forming under his feet.  
  
He gave Ian a quick kiss as they passed each other in the doorway and then quickly changed into his pajamas, which was just a ratty t-shirt and a pair of Ian’s old sweatpants, toes barely peeking out the bottom.  
  
Mickey grabbed his pack of cigarettes, ripping the cellophane off and throwing it haphazardly in the direction of the trash barrel under the desk. He smacked the pack against his palm of his hand as he walked out the door, checking his pockets for the room key before letting the door close shut behind him.  
  
He placed a cigarette between his lips, plopping down in the shitty beach chair that was provided for him for this exact purpose, a plastic ashtray on the table next to him filled with half smoked cigarettes and piles of ash. The obnoxious purple light was even worse out here in all it’s glory, no curtain to stop its full frontal assault on Mickey’s fucking eyeballs.  
  
But he tried to ignore it and just took a deep, soothing inhale from his cigarette, sighing in contentment once the smoke curled around his lungs and out of his slightly parted lips.  
  
It was cooler outside than it was in the room, but some of the stubborn humid air was still lingering. Summer always took a long time to fully disappear, bursts of hot air and humidity would constantly come running back into the atmosphere like someone who kept forgetting important things on the kitchen table of a house they were renting.  
  
But Autumn was knocking on the back door, kindly reminding Summer to get the fuck out and that it was her time to cloak the countryside in her chilly embrace.  
  
This shouldn’t have been something that Mickey was just becoming aware of, but nature in the dead of night was loud as fuck. The quiet from all the humans and their cars resting for the evening and allowing the true cacophony of nature to shine through in all its glory.  
  
It was somewhat deafening, all the sounds that Mickey was hearing. The crickets were going nonstop, bugs that Mickey didn’t even have a name for adding their buzz and loud voices to the symphony as well, some cat crying out in the distance. And if Mickey strained his ears hard enough he’s fucking positive he could hear some wolves howling miles away.  
  
It was all so fucking _loud,_ louder than any city street he had ever been on, louder than any brutal fight or gun fire booming in his vicinity.  
  
But despite how deafening it all was, it was also so incredibly peaceful. He felt at ease here, in this shitty plastic lawn chair on the side of a motel in the middle of nowhere was the most at ease he had ever fucking felt in his entire life. He thought he had reached that milestone when he finally settled into his apartment, when he finally got his own personal forest flourishing, when he _finally_ found Ian, but it was nothing compared to the feeling he felt rushing through his blood at being this close to his magical roots.  
  
He sucked on his cigarette again, closing his eyes on the exhale as he just soaked in the most wonderful song he had ever heard and let the soothing notes of nature unravel those knots and thorns that spent years digging themselves into Mickey’s insides with every note.  
  
A gentle breeze blew, the trees rustling quietly from where they stood, sturdy and strong. He heard a voice, soft and delicate, whispering almost silently as the breeze blew wisps of his hair in different directions.  
  
His eyes flew open, body jerking from his relaxed state with a jolt. Goosebumps rose up his arms and neck, making him shiver, chills running up his spine as he whipped his head back and forth, eyes squinting through the purple dusted darkness looking for a possible culprit.  
  
But there was no one around. No one close enough to him to whisper those words he thought he heard. He couldn’t be certain, could barely hear the disembodied voice as it rustled through the night, but it sounded eerie similar to the name his Mama used to call him in her native Ukrainian tongue when he was little.  
  
_My little sunflower._ _  
__  
_ “There you are,” he heard Ian say and Mickey turned to look at him a little too quickly for it to be normal. Ian’s smile slowly slipped off his face as he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “You alright?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing in concern.  
  
Mickey sighed and placed the cigarette up to his lips, rubbing his eyes with his unaccompanied hand. His skin was still pimpled with goosebumps, his leg bouncing up and down now with an anxiety he didn’t actually feel. His thumb was fucking throbbing to the point where it was almost painful.  
  
“Yeah, I’m good,” he replied on the exhale, stubbing out his cigarette in the already overflowing ashtray as he stood up. He looked at Ian, those green eyes looking at him in curiosity and wonder, a look that never seemed to disappear whenever Ian was watching him.  
  
“Just doing some thinking,” Mickey said quietly, placing his hand on Ian’s cheek and squeezing a bit in reassurance. He tilted his chin up, smiling a bit and licking his lips in a silent indication for a kiss.  
  
Ian obliged, leaning down to place a chaste kiss onto Mickey’s nicotine stained lips. He pulled back and wrapped Mickey up in his arms, bringing him closer to his chest and Mickey unconsciously burrowed into the spot at the base of Ian’s neck and sighed in contentment as he wrapped his own arms around Ian’s firm middle. Ian placed a kiss to the top of Mickey’s head, nuzzling his nose into the dark hair and resting there for a moment before they both pulled away from each other and back into their room, the door closing behind them and silencing all the sounds of outside so suddenly it was like someone flipped a switch.  
  
When they woke up the next morning there was a thick blanket of fog engulfing the countryside, the road barely visible from their door as Mickey squinted through the haze. It was 7am, the sun making its way over the horizon sluggishly like it too was just waking up from a night of slumber. Everything smelled wet, musky, that damp dirt odor infiltrating the air.  
  
Mickey was in that plastic lawn chair again like he was the night before, nursing a styrofoam cup of lukewarm motel coffee, cringing at the taste every time he took a sip. The symphony of nocturnal creatures from the night before had gave way to the gentle sounds of the coming dawn. Birds were chirping happily from their perches above the ground, mechanical animals like trucks and cars could be heard in the distance, the faraway horns and screeching of tires a reminder that the sound of human lives would always drown out the soothing sounds of Earth.  
  
Ian walked out of the room, closing and locking the door behind him, jiggling the handle and pushing on the door to make sure that it was actually locked. He had a backpack slung over his shoulders, boots laced up tight and a light jacket zipped up over his broad chest, ready to spend the day hiking through a foreign wood.  
  
Mickey turned his head to look at Ian, eyes squinted through the glaring haze of the rising sun and took a drag off his cigarette. He watched as Ian took a deep breath, stretched his back a bit on the inhale and turned his head to lock eyes with Mickey, smiling softly before he spoke.  
  
“Just talked to Debs,” he said.  
  
“Oh yeah? What’d she say?” Mickey replied, voice laced with amusement.  
  
“She said, and I quote, ‘your mattress is shitty as fuck, and Maurice ain’t that bad’,” Ian said with a smirk, holding up a finger for each fact so it looked like he was giving Mickey the peace sign.  
  
“Maurice?” Mickey said, eyebrows flying high, his smile growing to match Ian’s own.  
  
Ian laughed, his grinning cheeks blushing from the subtle chill of early autumn. “Well, she was right about one thing at least, that mattress _is_ shitty as fuck,” he said, with a definitive nod of his head.  
  
Mickey scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully as he replied. “Fuck you, it does its job,” he said with a cocky grin, innuendo thick in his words.  
  
Ian’s laugh petered out as he nodded his head in reluctant agreement and turned to look out towards the road. The fog had started to thin out, the sun burning bright already and intensifying the colors of the rust colored leaves clinging stubbornly to the trees as they swayed in the breeze, the colors matching so perfectly with the deep copper color of Ian’s hair.  
  
Fuck, he was beautiful.  
  
Mickey didn’t know how to break it to him quite yet, but he knew this was something he was going to have to do alone. As much as he would love to have Ian experience this adventure with him, he knew it was a solitary journey and had to remain that way. And fuck, what he wouldn’t give to have Ian accompany him anyway, to soothe his anxieties and keep him in check when he got overwhelmed.  
  
Plus, Ian’s childlike curiosity and excitement would be so fucking adorable to witness.  
  
He took one last drag from his cigarette before standing up, placing his cup of shitty coffee on the table and throwing the cigarette into the dark liquid, the ember fizzling out softly. He walked over to Ian, blowing the smoke out the side of his mouth as he went, and grabbed onto the straps of Ian’s backpack, pulling on them a bit.  
  
He looked up at Ian, his fingers delicately tracing the stitching on the shoulders of his bag. “You know I gotta do this alone, right?” he said, voice soft.  
  
Ian sighed and nodded his head, reaching up to stall Mickey’s movements and grab onto his hand instead. “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t mean I can’t go wandering off on my own though,” he said with a smirk, squeezing Mickey’s hand in his, finally intertwining their fingers and holding their clasps hands down at their sides.  
  
“I got a bag for you in the car, too, since you didn’t prepare anything at all. You trying to die out there?” Ian asked, his tone playful and light but the look in his eyes betrayed the fear that was drowning in his words.  
  
Mickey smiled. “Nah, just knew you would do it for me, tough guy,” he said, reaching up with his other hand to lightly punch Ian in the shoulder.  
  
Ian’s eyebrows went up, a sarcastic smirk stretching across his face. “Oh ya? And what if I didn’t, huh?”  
  
Mickey clicked his tongue, his fingers once again tracing the strap on Ian’s shoulder as he looked at him with a loving look that he was powerless to stop. “Guess I woulda just died out there then,” he replied nonchalantly with a shrug.  
  
Ian scoffed and shook Mickey off of him, making his way over to their lone car in the lot. “Shut up, lemme show you what ya got,” Ian said over his shoulder.  
  
The bag was in the trunk, nestled in with a bunch of other “just in case” shit that Ian had brought to be prepared. Sleeping bags and raincoats, extra gasoline and lanterns, a two person tent and three gallons of water. He wasn’t fucking around.  
  
He pulled Mickey’s bag from the mess, zipping it open with a flourish and opening it wide so Mickey could easily see into it. “You got a knife and a flashlight, a first aid kid, some protein bars and nuts, a few bottles of water,” Ian rattled off, pulling each item out to show Mickey that they did indeed exist before promptly putting them back into place. “I put a lightweight hoodie in there too. I don’t know what the cell service is gonna be like out there, so I got us some two-way radios, they’re already set to channel 3 so if it moves just know that’s the channel I’ll be on. Extra batteries for the radio and the flashlight are in this pocket. I also got you a map of the park, all the trails are labeled and easy to find, but I know you’ll probably be going off the trails, but the map will still help if you get lost--”  
  
“Jesus, how long you think I’ma be out there?” Mickey asked. This was a lot of heavy duty shit and Ian laying it all out for him like that was a terrifying reminder that he really had no fucking idea what he was doing. He had never gone hiking a day in his life. Shit, his version of camping was passing out drunk in a park after a few shameful escapades in Boystown.  
  
Ian shrugged, nonplussed and unaware of Mickey’s building anxiety. “It’s just good to be prepared, ya know? Anyway, there’s a compass right here,” he pulled it out, holding his hand out flat with the round instrument sitting in his palm. “You know how to use this?” he asked.  
  
“Think I can figure it out, Boy Scout,” Mickey replied.  
  
Ian laughed and put the compass back into its designated pocket before he handed the bag over to Mickey. “Anything else you think you might need?” he said.  
  
“Nah, Army, think you got it covered,,” he said, his playful grin back on his face again. “What are all those fuckin’ jars for though?” Mickey asked, nodding his head to the plethora of empty mason jars as he slung the bag over his shoulder, shrugging a few times to make it fit more comfortably upon his back.  
  
“Oh uh,” Ian started, reaching up to rub the back of his neck as his cheeks started to flush a dull pink. “For samples?” he said like it was a question instead of an answer.  
  
“Samples?” Mickey asked, his eyebrows inching up his forehead indicating Ian should elaborate.  
  
“Ya. I-I know you need certain things for your potions and rituals that you can’t get back home. Figured I could collect some river water and dirt for you, some moss or plant life. Maybe a bug or two or I’ll come across some animal bones. I don’t know,” Ian said, his slowly building nerves making him avoid eye contact with Mickey all together, taking a sudden interest in the patterns of the concrete beneath their feet.  
  
“I’m not gonna be straying too far from the trails, it’ll be easy for me to fill up a bunch of jars and put ‘em back in the car without weighing me down. You’re gonna be busy, so…” he trailed off, embarrassment spilling across his cheeks.  
  
Mickey’s heart was fit to burst. Ian went out and bought a bunch of mason jars with the sole purpose of collecting things Mickey might need for his witchcraft when he gets back home. Mickey was so preoccupied with his mounting anxiety about what his Mama wanted that the thought of collecting things and bringing them back home didn’t even cross his mind.  
  
But this guy, his fucking _boyfriend_ , thought of all of that already. He had thought of everything that Mickey could possibly fucking need without Mickey even asking him to. He just _did_ it, did it because he cared, cared about _Mickey._  
  
Mickey took the step closer to Ian, reaching up and grasping onto the back of Ian’s neck. Ian looked up from staring at his shoes to lock onto Mickey’s completely open and earnest eyes. He smiled fondly, licking his lips as he said the only thing he could say.  
  
“I fuckin’ love you,” he said, his voice surprisingly coming out wet and thick.  
  
Ian was powerless to stop the affectionate grin that was taking over his face, but he tried. He pulled his lips in between his teeth and looked back down at his shoes. He looked back up when he collected himself and pulled Mickey in so suddenly for a hug that Mickey almost tripped over his own damn feet.  
  
Ian wrapped him up in his arms, Mickey reciprocating which was slightly awkward given the hulking backpacks attached to both of them. They stood like that for a moment, just wrapped up in each other in the relative privacy of this vacant lot before they had to head out. Ian squeezed tighter before he let go, pulling away from Mickey but not before placing a light kiss to his lips.  
  
“Alright, let’s get going, gotta make the most of the daylight!” Ian said cheerfully before he walked around to the drivers side of the car, throwing his backpack into the back seat, Mickey not too far behind.  
  
The drive from their motel to the main parking area of Porcupine Wilderness State Park wasn’t long, both places residing on the same stretch of highway, but nevertheless the ride was incredibly picturesque. It was something Mickey didn’t have the opportunity to notice last night, the majority of their trip up here taking place in the dark of night, so the sweeping mountain tops, thick pine forests and the gentle rolling waves faded into the darkness for some well deserved rest and stood strong in their silhouettes against the night sky.  
  
The road to the park ran along the outer banks of Lake Superior, the recent deluge of rain from the week before caused the waters to rise and swallow up most of the sand on its shores. The mountains were foreboding and growing larger and larger the closer they drove, pops of orange and red from the slowly dying autumn leaves accentuated the rough rock ledges of the cliffs making them somehow look smaller. All the patterns were too far away to distinguish, all the colors blending together and erasing all the defining characteristics making everything look like a fucking Bob Ross painting.  
  
That early morning fog had mostly dissipated, but it was hovering above the mountain tops like low hanging clouds clinging onto the only piece of Earth that they ever got close enough to grab, finally able to connect with that pulse of life they constantly overshadowed.    
  
“Wow, it’s all so fucking beautiful,” Ian said, an air of awe and amazement in his voice and Mickey couldn’t do much else except grunt in agreement, the words stuck in his throat as he looked on with wide eyes at all that was surrounding them.  
  
Mickey had never seen mountains before and it was safe to assume Ian hadn’t either. There was nothing but flat plains where they were from, not so much as a fucking low grade hill as far as the eye could see, the only disruptions to the horizon being sharp points of buildings and the sturdy steel of train tracks, they eroded and decaying tiles on the rooftops looking like moss covered cliffs in their own right.

Everything was flat. Fucking lifeless.  
  
But not out here. Life was bursting from the Earth in every direction he looked, like everything was so overjoyed and grateful to be here, on _this_ planet, that it’s exuberance was something that couldn’t be contained under dirt and rock.  
  
He took a cigarette out of his pack, his hands slightly trembling as he rolled the flint of the lighter with his thumb, the sweat on his skin making him fumble with the process a few times until the flame finally danced up from the cheap plastic. He took a deep inhale off the cigarette, hoping the nicotine and carcinogens would calm him the fuck down. He wanted to savor this cigarette, take the hits slow and hold the smoke deep before letting it go. He knew this would be his last one until he exited the forest, there was no way he was going to willingly blow toxins into the pure air.  
  
He did have a few joints snuggly placed in the cardboard package though.  
  
Mickey’s thumb was pulsing, more so than it was the night before when he heard that whispered voice. It was like his heart wasn’t beating in his chest but was actually nestled into that one tiny, moss colored digit. He curled his hand into a fist, trapping his thumb between his palm and fingers and squeezed hard, hoping to disperse some of the energy that was beating there, but it did nothing to help, his thumb thumping ever harder.  
  
“Fuck,” he whispered around the filter of his cigarette, taking another hit and blowing the smoke out more quickly than before. His thumb had never hurt this bad, but it was pulsing so goddamn hard he’s positive he could see it convulsing if you looked close enough. He shook his hand out aggressively before encasing his thumb between the fist of his other hand.  
  
“You alright?” Ian asked, his brow furrowing as he looked over at Mickey quickly out of the corner of his eye.  
  
“Fine,” Mickey bit out, the one word coming out harsher than he intended it to. But Ian didn’t look bothered, he just sighed sadly and reached over, resting his hand on Mickey’s thigh above his knee, squeezing once in reassurance before he took to rubbing his own normal fucking thumb along the course material of Mickey’s jeans.  
  
It did more to calm his nerves than the cigarette still nestled between his lips.  
  
They drove on, Mickey eventually handing Ian the tail end of his cigarette, Ian grabbing the offered stick with the hand that was resting on Mickey’s leg, the comforting heat still lingering for a few moments afterwards. A sign passed on Mickey’s right, officially welcoming them into the State Forest, but Ian kept going, the parking lot he was aiming for a little ways up the road still.  
  
The further they drove, the more Mickey’s body came alive. It was tingling, pulsing just like his thumb was but with a lower intensity. He couldn’t help squirming in his seat, the feeling foreign and fucking uncomfortable. His whole body was engulfed in that pins and needles feel that happens when your foot falls asleep, goosebumps popping up along his arms and legs with a vengeance.  
  
“My body feels fucking nuts, man,” Mickey said, squirming around some more like there was a fucking hornet in his boxers as the feeling continued to intensify, matching the ache in his thumb.

“Whattya mean?” Ian asked, eyes flicking over to Mickey, the corners of his mouth turning down in concern.  
  
“Fuck, it’s like--it’s, you know when your foot falls asleep and everything feels like, fuckin’ staticy?” he asked.  
  
Ian’s eyebrows went up, but he nodded anyway.  
  
“It’s like that, all the fuck over me,” he said, thrusting his arms out in front of himself to shake them out, “feels fucking awful,” he finished with a whisper.  
  
He sat in silence for a few more moments, that feeling he felt shooting through his entire body reaching a crescendo. His stomach churned, hands shaking as he found it increasingly difficult to breathe trapped in the confines of this shitty fucking car. It felt like he was having a fucking panic attack, his whole body responding to a threat that didn’t exist as his heart made an impressive attempt to vacate his body. His palms were sweating, his vision was swimming, he felt like he was on the verge of passing out.  
  
“Pull over,” he said, voice trembling.  
  
The urgency in his voice must have caused a spike of fear to rise in Ian’s chest, his usual careful and cautious driving thrown to the wayside as he pulled the car over with a quick jerk, screeching to a halt on the side of the road. Mickey opened the door, basically tumbling out of the vehicle before Ian had even put it in park and landing on his hands and knees in the wet grass.

He didn’t have any confidence in his legs ability to hold him up, so he sat there, eyes closed as he took deep breaths in through his nose and out his mouth. His hands curled into fists, fingers digging into the dirt as the dew from the grass seeped into the knees of his jeans, the barely there sound of the lake’s waves reaching his ears.  
  
He sat back on his haunches and dug his hand deep into his pocket, pulling out two crystals that he had charged before their journey, the two crystals that always seemed to help his anxious and paranoid mind the most; black tourmaline for protection against fearful thoughts or negative energies, and hematite for grounding and stability of mind. (And Ian didn’t know it, but Mickey had slipped each of these crystals as well as a satchel filled with protective herbs and tied with a rope adorned with some charmed knotwork into Ian’s backpack before they left Chicago. He didn’t know what they were going to encounter on their journey, and with these two some extra protection and stability never fucking hurt.)

Mickey held one crystal in each of his still trembling hands, feeling their energy immediately, adding to the pulse already shooting through his body. He continued his breathing, in through the nose and out through the mouth, slowly, slowly. He relaxed his face, making sure to focus on not scrunching his brow in pain or frowning in concern.  
  
Once he felt his breathing return to something resembling normal, he licked his lips and whispered the words that had eased many panic attacks in the past.  
  
“This moment is as it should be. I am here, I am now, and I can make peace with this moment. I draw positivity into myself and expel the negatives,” he whispered, voice flowing quietly through his panic bitten lips.

He recited the spell one more time, leaning forward and placing his palms flat on the ground again, the tips of his fingers curling into the Earth, bits of dirt embedding itself underneath his fingernails. The crystals were digging into the soft skin of his palm, but he didn’t care. He could feel all the static that engulfed his body slowly receding, flowing through the tips of his fingers and the palms of his hands and leaching into the Earth where it belonged.

He was faintly aware of the fact that Ian was still standing stoically behind him, and that he had witnessed two things for the first time. One of those things being Mickey’s ability to go from calm to panicked in a fucking millisecond. He’d been plagued by panic attacks his whole fucking life, growing up the way he did there was no way he was escaping that hell mentally unscatched, but until now he’s managed to keep that shit hidden from Ian much like he’s hidden the second thing he just witnessed.  
  
Up until this moment, Ian had never really seen Mickey perform a spell or use his crystals, Mickey choosing to perform most of his magical duties and rituals when Ian was at school, work or sleeping. The most magic Ian had been there to witness was the silent decharming of his lucky pen and the whole peony fiasco from months earlier.  
  
It’s not that Mickey was ashamed of his gifts, he wouldn’t have shared them at all if he didn’t trust Ian with everything in his fucking gut, it’s just that witchcraft was personal, intimate, and so fucking powerful he didn’t want to freak Ian out with the sheer energy that encapsulates everything that is witchcraft.  
  
He supposed he didn’t want to scare Ian, didn’t want to drive him away with his panic attacks and his tendency to shy away from emotional situations, but he was most concerned about spooking the redhead with his fucking magic.  
  
But there was no place for that now, not anymore, not with the conversation they had on the side of the road the night before, not with the proclamation still ringing so loud in Mickey’s heart, not with the trust and dedication that had been tightly knotted together in their souls as if by its own type of magic, no cords necessary.  
  
Ian was probably just as terrified of letting Mickey in to his own personal shit as Mickey was of letting Ian in to his personal shit as well. But if Ian could do _that,_ well then fuck, Mickey could do that too.  
  
He sat on the side of that road still, waiting until his body was completely relaxed and at ease, if only he could get his thoughts to stop swimming around in his skull like a trapped fish.  
  
He was startled out of his silence by Ian softly resting his hand on Mickey’s shoulder blade. Mickey sat back up so he was kneeling instead of on his hands and knees, crystals still laying in the bright green grass.  
  
“Take this,” Ian said, handing over a bottle of water as he crouched down to be more eye level with Mickey.  
  
Mickey took the water without hesitation, cracking open the plastic cap and taking a long gulp from the bottle like he was a parched man dying in the desert, the cold water soothing his burning insides.  
  
“You okay?” Ian asked softly, his hand squeezing Mickey’s shoulder.  
  
Mickey turned his head to look at the concerned but so incredibly fucking tender face of his boyfriend. He felt all remaining tension and panic leave his body, a fond smile slowly slipping over his face as he nodded.  
  
“Yeah, yeah I feel better. Thanks,” he said, waving the bottle of water around to indicate what, exactly, he was thankful for that was tangible and not just the overflowing of love and understanding that emanated from Ian in waves.  
  
“You ready to keep going or do you need more time?” Ian asked, not an ounce of judgement or fear in his voice, just concern.  
  
Mickey took one more long sip from the bottle, draining it completely. He grabbed the two crystals still lying in the grass and pocketed them once more before he stood up, Ian following his lead.

Once they were back in the car and driving towards their destination, Mickey realized something. He realized that it wasn’t anxiety and fear that had seized his entire body minutes ago - it was fucking excitement. His body was trembling and buzzing with elation and anticipation from being _here_ , in these woods. This is where his magic originated, where his Mama lived and thrived and cultivated her craft with love and passion for years. Here, in _these_ woods, on _this_ mountain, is where all his power pulsed, it’s energy emanating from the Earth and sustaining the life all around it, human and inhuman.  
  
His body felt it, his powers _sensed_ it, that this place was incredibly vital to Mickey’s survival and way of life and everything inside of him was screaming out in jubilation, thrilled with the adventure Mickey was about to embark on and all the energy and excitement thrumming through his veins made Mickey’s brain flip into panic mode at the unfamiliar feeling.  
  
Rolling this thought over in his mind, he let out a quiet huff of laughter, the realization that he was safe here hitting him full force for the first time. In fact, he’s certain he had never felt safer than he did right at that very moment despite all the nights that this thought floated into his head when he was wrapped up in Ian’s arms. The land knew him, the spirits and energy here already _knew_ him because it fucking _was_ him, and Mother was just waiting to bring him back into her comforting embrace with open arms.  
  
They pulled up into the parking lot not long after Mickey’s mini freak out. The lot was practically empty, a few cars and trucks parked far away from each other but other than that it was basically empty. They climbed out of the car, grabbing their backpacks and slinging them over their shoulders before locking the doors.  
  
Mickey stood up straight, head tilting back to look up where the sky met the peak of the mountain. He took a deep breath, feeling the clean fresh air seep into his lungs and trickle out to flow through his heart and veins, the last vestiges of his anxiety and hesitance completely dissipating and leaving nothing but excitement in its place.  
  
His thumb was absolutely fucking throbbing but for once it didn’t bother him, it was driving him closer to the woods, deeper into the center of this wondrous and breathtaking place. He looked over at Ian and he knew by the look on Ian’s face that Mickey’s own was radiating happiness and life.  
  
“You ready to go explore?” Ian said, his smile blooming large the longer he stared at Mickey’s bright and eager eyes.  
  
“Yeah,” Mickey said, a little breathless, the sun beaming brighter off of Ian’s hair and eyes than it ever did back in Chicago, the rays maintaining their full luminous shine from not having to battle through smog and pollution to reach the ground. “Come with me,” he finished.  
  
Ian’s eyes grew wide. “You--you said you gotta do this alone,” he replied.  
  
Mickey nodded once. “I do, but that doesn’t mean we can’t start together,” he said, reaching his hand out towards Ian in a silent invitation.  
  
Ian’s smile grew even wider, toothy and big, cheeks pushed to their breaking point as he reached for Mickey’s hand and gripped for dear life. Mickey returning the embrace just as hard.  
  
They walked towards the main trail hand in hand, stopping right before the entrance and gazing into the thick wood, the trail stretching before them and disappearing in the distance, swallowed up by trees and rocks. Mickey felt warm despite the chilly autumn air, like a blanket had been draped over his shoulders.  
  
They locked eyes with each other one more time, a silent confirmation passing in their gazes before they proceeded onto the trail, only breaking their bond when they were under the canopy of trees, the sun poking through the spaces between branches and leaves and illuminating their way, shadows dancing on the floor of the wood with every slight breeze.  
  
Mickey was absolutely ecstatic, there was no hiding it anymore, his excitement was as noticeable as if he was a dog wagging its tail.  
  
He reached out and rested his palm flat against a nearby tree, feeling the rough bark dig gently into his skin. An electric current pulsed through the tree and through his hand, shooting up his arm and leaving goosebumps in its wake. Mickey could almost feel the life pulsing through this tree like it had a heart, its roots like veins in the soil of the Earth.  
  
Mickey leaned in, not even giving a fuck because Ian wouldn’t judge him in the least, and rested his forehead against the tree, closing his eyes to just soak up everything that was happening to him at this very moment. He felt lighter than fucking air, like one soft breeze would be enough to have him blowing away like a fallen autumn leaf.

He was hugging a fucking tree, in the middle of nowhere fucking Michigan with his boyfriend supporting his every fucking move. He was surrounded by love and light and life and he didn’t want to leave this place, the thought of returning to the depressing Chicago streets causing a shock of sadness to shoot through his body momentarily. But the feeling was gone as quickly as it came, elation and joy making a home for themselves in the previously dark and murky depths of Mickey’s body. His body was humming like it was back in the car, but it didn’t scare him at all, didn’t make him uncomfortable in the slightest, he welcomed the feeling with open arms and an open heart.  
  
He turned back around, fully expecting Ian to be staring at him with those curious green eyes of his, but he was off in a world of his own. Ian had his phone out, snapping pictures of a nearby plant, moving a bit to get different angles. It just looked like a normal ass plant growing through the cracks in the rock, leaves jagged and waxy looking, still bright green despite the fall temperatures creeping in colder and colder every night.  
  
“What’s that?” Mickey asked, eyebrow quirked.  
  
Ian turned around, his excitement matching Mickey’s own. “It’s a fucking Hart’s-Tongue Fern, they only grow naturally in like four states, I’ve never seen one before, this is so cool, come here!”  
  
Mickey obliged, moving away from the tree and letting the pads of his fingers slowly trail down the bark lovingly before moving over to his boyfriend, his enthusiasm absolutely infectious.  
  
“See how the tops of the leaves curl over like that, look like the tops of violins? So fucking cool,” Ian said, back to snapping pics of this fucking plant and Mickey’s heart swelled so much in his chest he was certain it was going to burst by the end of the day.  
  
He let Ian gush over the fern for a little bit longer before gently pulling on his sleeve, reminding him that they had a whole fucking forest to explore. They moved on, further and further into the woods, the opening to the trail no longer visible, the concrete of the parking lot swallowed up by the forest.  It was so quiet but so loud at the same time, Mickey could hear birds chirping, the leaves rustling, twigs snapping in the distance with the movement of animals.  
  
And if he strained his hearing hard enough, he could hear the rushing of water way off in the distance, from a river or small stream he didn’t know, but he was eager to find out. The only sounds he didn’t hear were the industrial sounds of the outside world; there were no car horns or police sirens, no trains squealing above his head or people shooting guns off in the distance, in fact he hadn’t heard a fucking gunshot in days.  
  
He didn’t even feel the need to have a cigarette, the perpetual desire to have a burning stick between his lips at all times had fallen to the wayside as soon as they stepped into the woods and that nasty habit had plagued his mind since he was eleven.  
  
About twenty minutes into their hike, Mickey got a sharp pull in his stomach that made him stop in his tracks and double over for a moment, hand clutching onto his midsection.  
  
Ian stopped, turning to look at Mickey with his brow creased in concern. “What’s up?”  
  
Mickey rubbed his stomach, nodding his head. He knew what this was, what it meant. His body was telling him what to do and where to go, his magic trying to point him in the right direction, his intuition acting as its own type of compass.  
  
“Think it’s time for us to split up,” Mickey said solemnly. He didn’t want to leave Ian’s side, but he knew it was time.  
  
Ian nodded and walked closer to Mickey, grabbing the back of his neck and squeezing before leaning in for a quick kiss. “Be safe, please. But have fun, enjoy it!” he said quietly and sincerely.

Mickey grinned and kissed Ian again, more intense than the first time, lingering a bit longer before pulling away. “I’ll see you soon,” he said as he pulled away, gently smacking Ian’s cheek twice.  
  
“Don’t forget, channel three on the walkie if you need me, okay? I love you,” Ian said.  
  
They engaged in one last parting kiss before they separated, Ian continuing on the trail and Mickey turning right and dipping into the untamed woods, weaving between the trees, leaves crunching underneath his boots. He found that he didn’t even need to watch his steps, climbing over rocks and fallen branches with ease, never once stumbling or second guessing his foot placement.  
  
It’s like he had walked these woods a thousand times before, could probably walk around with his eyes closed and still be able to reach his destination without a scratch on him.  
  
He didn’t want to close his eyes though, there was too much to fucking see. Squirrels were scurrying past him in blurs, climbing up trees and darting under piles of leaves in search of food to hoard for the upcoming winter. Two chipmunks zoomed past, their argument about thievery reaching Mickey’s ears in high pitched squeaks, making him huff out a laugh.  
  
The further along he went, the more he could feel his powers come alive, his body absolutely buzzing with energy and magic it felt like he would explode if he didn’t let it out. As if the forest had heard his plea, directly to his left was a small sapling tree, thriving and alive, but small and dwarfed by the others around it. In time, the larger trees would soak up all the nutrients that sapling needed to survive and flourish, the old roots bigger and stronger and able to take what was rightfully theirs; the small sapling would grow weak, brittle, probably wouldn’t grow to its full potential surrounded by all these ancient elms.  
  
Mickey smiled and walked around the sapling, his fingers gentle on it’s small, still green, leaves. He had never attempted this spell on such a large scale, only on small plants in his house and garden, but he was confident that he had enough magic inside of him to pull this off, his instincts wouldn’t lie, the forest wouldn’t lie.  
  
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, hands curling around the delicate twig that would soon become a sturdy trunk and envisioned the tree large and thriving, it’s branches stretching wide and strong as it swayed in the breeze. He whispered those words he had recited a thousand times before, the spell flowing past his lips like a song and the magic flowing out of his palms just as easily. He could feel it, could feel the moment the magic started taking hold on the sapling, the wood dully vibrating in his hands, but he kept hold and kept whispering.  
  
Mickey felt the tree growing in his hands, the wood expanding enough to where he couldn’t curl his hand around the sapling and had to lay his hands flat on the increasingly expanding rough bark. He opened his eyes, still whispering those words and watched rapturously as the tree had already grown halfway up towards the canopy, the cracks and pops of it’s branches twisting and expanding like an accompanying symphony to a final dance. The leaves were sprouting up and fully blooming right before his eye, it was like he was watching a high speed video that someone had recorded over years but condensed to fit into a three minute segment.  
  
It was beautiful, Mickey’s smile wide and wondrous as his heart beat faster and faster in his chest, the words coming to a halt, positive that his magic had done the trick. He strained his neck backwards, laughing as the young branches carved a name for themselves amongst the canopy, the other trees immediately welcoming. He could feel the roots expanding and reaching underneath his feet, digging into the Earth and cementing their rightful place in the ground.  
  
Mickey felt tears leaking down his face, he didn’t even know it was happening but he was powerless to stop it. He was so fucking _happy._ _  
_ _  
_ The tree stopped its ascension as it reached its full potential and Mickey leaned forward to rest his forehead against the bark, breathing in deep as he closed his eyes, wiping his wet cheeks with one hand. He took a second to compose himself, not used to the feeling of absolute fucking elation zipping through his body and mind.  
  
Once he felt like he was ready he pushed away from the tree, giving it a playful grin as he patted it twice and walked away. He didn’t even feel depleted of energy like he thought he might, the forest replenishing everything he had given with ease. This never would have happened in Chicago, the city greedily soaking up his magic and power and giving nothing in return. There were days where Mickey sometimes felt weak, fatigued, but he figured he just didn’t get a good sleep the night before, it had never occurred to him that the city was selfishly stealing his energy.  
  
Mickey shook his head at himself, didn’t want to think of Chicago, not here, not now. He was _home_.

He walked on, losing track of time as he explored the woods. If he was being honest, it felt as if time had stopped entirely, not even the tell tale elongating of shadows could be seen under the cover of trees, but according to his phone two hours had already passed. Eventually, he came across a river, the soothing sound of its slow current splashing against the rocks was easily one of the best sounds that Mickey had ever heard, it was almost comparable to one of Ian’s laughs, the one where he involuntarily snorts when he really gets going, breathless and red faced.  
  
It wasn’t a huge river, probably only about eight feet across, but it was decently deep, Mickey estimating probably about three feet. Still, the current was tranquil and slow, easily traversed by wandering animals. It was crystal clear, the water sparkling with the sunbeams coming in through the trees, fallen leaves and twigs were racing through the current, getting caught on various rocks and juttings of land. He could see various fish in its depths, scourging for different things to eat. Struck by the sudden urge to feel its icy chill, Mickey bent down, his fingertips gently grazing the top of the water.  
  
Suddenly, his whole body felt like he was drenched from the inside out, like the blood in his veins had been replaced with water. It was refreshing and chilling, a shiver running up his spine. He was cold, the brisk autumn water chilling him to the very bone, but he felt so utterly content. He closed his eyes, plunging his whole hand down into the water up to his wrist, feeling the smooth scales of some curious fish coming to see what the new intruder was.  
  
His cheeks hurt from how much he had been smiling lately, but he couldn’t help it, wouldn’t be able to stop no matter how hard he tried. It was natural, his joy jumping through him the only way it knew how.  
  
Distantly he heard the cracking of a branch and the gentle splash of the water. He opened his eyes, biting back a gasp at the fox he saw on the other bank, bending down to take a sip of water. Mickey observed, eyes gleaming, body frozen as he held his breath as to not disturb this beautiful creature.  
  
When the fox had finished quenching it’s thirst, it looked up from the river, beads of water dropping down from the wiry hairs of its muzzle as it stared at Mickey. They locked eyes and Mickey could have sworn he saw the fox nod in hello.  
  
Mickey smiled, holding his hand up in greeting. “Hi,” he said breathily, his voice laced with amazement.  
  
And just as the fox was going to say something back, the crackling of static and a familiar voice from another redheaded creature saying his name sounded from his backpack. The fox jolted in surprise, eyes wide as it turned around, racing towards the treeline and darting into the brush, disappearing out of sight, the red of it’s fur getting swallowed up in the green leaves.  
  
“Mic--there?” the connection was weak, Ian’s voice cutting out and replaced with static. Mickey huffed and sat down fully on the bank of the river, crossing his legs in front of him. He took his backpack off, laying it beside him and pulling the walkie talkie from the front pocket.  
  
He pulled the antenna up and held onto the button. “Ian? Yeah, I’m here,” he said.  
  
“You’re supposed to say over, over,” Ian said and Mickey could just hear the fucking playful smirk in his voice.  
  
“Eat my ass, over,” he said, emphasizing the last word.  
  
Ian laughed, the sound coming out clear as day now that the antenna was up and reaching for a signal. God, Mickey really wished Ian was right here with him.  
  
“How’s it going?” he asked.  
  
“Amazing. Holy shit you wouldn’t believe what just fuckin’ happened. There was a fox, and--and this fucking tree,” Mickey knew his thoughts were coming out jumbled and disconnected, but he was so fucking excited to share with his boyfriend that all the words and stories fought to come out at the same time. He paused, composing himself before continuing, “it’s just fucking awesome, I wish you were here.”  
  
“I wish I was there too, it sounds cool. I just found this fucking amazing waterfall, I don’t know if you can hear it,” Ian said and Mickey could vaguely hear the rush of water in the background, loud and boisterous, and definitely feeding the river that ran before him.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I hear it,” Mickey said with a soft smile. Ian continued talking, his excitement feeding into Mickey’s, and Mickey listened intently. While Ian was rambling, Mickey got struck with the sudden urge to take his shoes off. He untied his boots, grunting as he pulled them off off his feet then pulling his socks off before balling them up and stuffing them into the toe of his boot.  
  
Inching closer to the bank of the river, he cuffed the bottom of his jeans until he was sure they wouldn’t get wet and he stuck his feet into the water, the feeling of being completely doused in the crisp water over taking him again, waves and waves of cool contentment washing over him. He got lost in it, the sensation even more intense than before, the soles of his feet not as rough as the palm of his hand; soft, sensitive. He sighed, once again closing his eyes and fully immersing himself in the power of the woods.  
  
“Mickey? You there?”  
  
He scrambled, almost dropping the walkie into the water. “Yeah, yeah sorry, I’m here. That sounds amazing Ian, maybe we can go check it out together tomorrow.”  
  
“Yeah, I’d like that,” he said, the fondness palpable in his voice. There was a brief pause, both of them relishing in their connection through radio waves while basking in the seperate solitude of the forest. “You uh-you find her yet?”  
  
Mickey sighed and closed his eyes, placing his hand that wasn’t holding the walkie onto the ground, fingers gripping onto the blades of grass like he would slip off the face of the Earth if he let go. “Nah, not yet. But I--I think I’m getting close,” _I can feel her_ he tacked on silently.  
  
Ian hummed in acknowledgement. “Alright, I’m gonna let you go then. But please don’t forget to check in every once in awhile, okay? I--I worry,” Ian said the last part quietly.  
  
“I know you do. I’ll check in, I promise,” Mickey reassured him before they said their goodbyes. Mickey sighed, that permanent smile on his face again as he pushed down the antenna to the walkie and stuck it back in the bag.  
  
He pulled out his pack of cigarettes, moving the butts around until he found one of the joints hidden in the corner. He pulled it out and placed it to his lips, lighting it quickly and efficiently. He took a deep puff, holding it in his lungs and exhaling slowly as he laid down, bringing one arm up to support his head. The ground was wet, the feeling seeping through his shirt and chilling his back, but it didn’t make him uncomfortable at all.  
  
Mickey sat there, feet in the river, joint between his lips, and allowed himself to find complete and total fucking peace. He gazed up towards the sky, the branches swinging gently, adding to his meditation and relaxation. He felt completely at one with the forces in the forest, deeply intertwined with nature and life that it would be impossible to untangle the ties that bind them together.  
  
He could see birds flying up above, squirrels hopping from branch to branch, bugs zipping back and forth, their wings beating furiously in the light breeze. Everything looked golden, bright and welcoming, the vibrant young autumn leaves creating a painting unlike any other, unique to this part of the forest.  
  
Mickey closed his eyes, bringing the joint up to his lips again, hitting it and ashing it into the ground, digging the ash into the dirt with his fingers, the cool soil embedding itself into his skin. He dug his fingers in deeper, shivering from the cold water swallowing his feet and the wet dirt coating his fingers.  
  
His thumb throbbed and Mickey was reminded of a dream he had months ago that was eerily similar to what he was experiencing right now, the only difference was his thumb was glowing and alive in his dream, not dead and lifeless like it had been for years.  
  
He longed for that part of himself to come back to him, yearned to feel that power and control that he didn’t get to fully harness when he was young. He didn’t feel whole without it, a massive chunk of what made his magic so special had abandoned him for years and he fucking wanted it back.  
  
He couldn’t blame it though, he wasn’t the most devout follower of practices and worship, why would Mother continue to bestow him with the greatest gift of all if she wasn’t going to be getting anything in return? Besides, he faintly knew that that piece of himself was with his Mama, and she needed it more than he did.  
  
Mickey wasn’t sure how long he laid there, time seemingly slowing to a stop yet again. He almost drifted off a few times, jolting himself awake with a snore every so often. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to adjust to the sudden brightness and grinning down at the butterfly that had landed on his chest during his accidental nap. He sat up with a groan, the butterfly vacating it’s perch on his chest as he stretched his arms over his head, cracking his back a few times. He felt refreshed, absolutely relaxed and ready to get back to his journey.  
  
He stood up, deciding not to bother putting his shoes back on, instead just tying the laces together and swinging them over his shoulder before he secured his backpack behind him once again.  
  
He moved on, following the river south, his feet digging into the slightly muddy banks and covering the top of his feet and ankles with specks of mud. He looked ahead, didn’t even need to watch his steps or look down at his bare feet on the covered forest floor, he knew he wouldn’t be stepping on anything dangerous.  
  
The butterfly was back, flapping around his head and darting in and out of his line of sight and Mickey knew what was happening. The butterfly was guiding him, directing him to where he needed to go and he followed blindly and rapturously, eyes locked onto the beautiful black and blue butterfly as it darted through trees and bushes, deeper and deeper into these untouched woods.  
  
It could have been hours, could have only been a few minutes, but soon the butterfly landed on what looked like an old fence post, its wings beating slowly as it rested, its mission complete. Mickey stood at the beginning of the path, gazing down the overgrown and windy trail before him. He couldn’t see the end of the trail, had no idea where it stopped or where it was taking him but he had an inkling about where he would end up. He took a deep breath before thanking the butterfly and marching forward.

The broken down fence lined the way, moss growing up the bottom of the posts, some posts knocked down altogether, the repurposed wood once again becoming one with the forest floor and fostering the growth of small mushrooms, the damp wood a great home for various bugs and worms. What was once a worn and travelled path had reduced back to its natural state, grass growing wildly down the center of the lane, and if it wasn’t for the fence lining the sides there would be no indication that there was once a path here at all.  
  
Mickey was mindful not to trample any of the wildflowers that lived here and his ears tuned to listen to any gentle rustling beneath the brush. The path weaved and turned, the broken down fence still guiding him forward. He didn’t need to walk between the busted down posts, he could have easily walked on the other side of the fence and it would still have the same effect, but it felt like this was what he was supposed to do and he didn’t want to deviate.  
  
He walked and walked, the wild grass up to his knees and tickling his skin. Up ahead he saw that the path ended, a slight hill blocking his way, jagged stone steps had been placed into the hill to make it easier for the wandering soul to find its way back home.  
  
He walked up the steps carefully, for the first time on this journey he was mindful of where his foot was falling. He wasn’t too keen on the idea of slipping on a fallen leaf and tumbling down these damp and slippery stone steps, visions of him smashing his head off the rock and bleeding out from a head wound all alone in these woods flooding his mind with each careful movement. His body hummed with each small ascension towards the top, magic vibrating through the soil. _This is it,_ he told himself, _this is where my Mama is._ He could feel her energy, her soul, could almost smell her favorite flower that she kept tucked behind her ear for years.  
  
The path continued once he reached the top of the hill, winding and turning, carrying him towards another rising hill. The path abruptly ended, no more worn down posts to guide his way. This hill was smaller than the other one, rounder, it looked smoothed out and didn’t have the rising imperfections of the rest of the hills he’s encountered in these woods.  
  
Furrowing his brow, he walked closer to the hill, and upon closer inspection he noticed that it wasn’t a hill at all. There was what looked like an arched door at the bottom of the hill, the wood covered with vines and moss, it’s dark oak color getting swallowed up by bright greens, making it almost invisible to someone who wasn’t looking for it.  
  
Mickey looked around again, somehow noticing for the first time what looked like a small dilapidated barn to his right, the fence surrounding the barn still in tact, the roof caved in and the troughs that once held food now fostering ecosystems of their own from the standing water trapped in it’s confines. There was a well over in the corner, the wood bucket still dangling from the pulley, swaying back and forth in the breeze. He could see an overgrown garden next to the well, decaying vegetables from a lost harvest falling from the stalks into the grass with dull thumps.  
  
He walked closer still, his heart beating faster and faster the closer he got, from elation or fear he wasn’t sure, but his thumb felt like it was about to amputate itself from his hand and run away into the forest. He reached the door, sweeping vines away from his face and brushing off the moss that covered the knob. His hand shook as he grabbed onto the weathered brass doorknob, a jolt of electricity zapping up his arm before he turned it and pushed.  
  
The door opened up with an ease he wasn’t expecting, the rusted hinges looked like they were going to put up a hell of a fight, but it swung open as easily as a screen door in a light breeze. It was dark inside, the only light coming from the open door, no windows lining the wall to let the sunshine pour in, the damp smell wafting up through his nostrils and snaking down into his lungs.  
  
Against all of his South Side instincts...he walked inside.  
  
He pulled the flashlight out of his backpack, clicking on the light and sweeping it over the inside. There was a table with six chairs, a stove with a rusted kettle still resting on it like the previous occupant was ready to make some tea before they were interrupted. The pantry was lined with jars filled with preserves and jams, molded fruit sitting in a bowl on the middle shelf. There was a couch, some rocking chairs with what looked like a ball of yarn stabbed with two large knitting needles turned to face the fireplace, ash still covering the bottom. He swiped the flashlight up to look at the ceiling, the exposed beams scratched and worn, more ivy and vines lining the ceiling and curling around the beams beautifully.  
  
He noticed three doors off to the right, only one of the doors wide open and welcoming. He walked closer, cautious to not make a lot of noise as he moved through the house, one hand curled around the knife in his pocket, wary if anyone was lurking in the dark confines of the rooms.  
  
Tentatively, he poked his head into the room, swinging the flashlight around into all the dark corners and behind the door to make sure there were no monsters lurking ready to attack. There was a bookcase packed to the brim with old books, the bindings looked cracked and worn even in the dull illumination from the flashlight. Dried plants and herbs hung down from the ceiling, brushing against the top of Mickey’s head every so often, making him flail dramatically and swipe his hand through his hair trying to dislodge the invisible bugs from his hair.  
  
He walked over to a tall cabinet, the glass doors crusted over and one of the panels broken completely. He squinted his eyes, looking through the dirty glass to see jars and vials of various shapes and sizes, all different sorts of ingredients for potions corked inside, shit he had never seen before, all of them neatly labeled in a bubbly yet neat handwriting that looked heart stoppingly familiar.  
  
Pulverized animal bones, dragonfly wings, bee stingers, crushed rose petals, dew from early morning sunflowers. Mickey read each and every ingredient quietly out loud to himself, astonished at the collection that was hidden in this creepy old house. His mind was ablaze with all the things he could do with these ingredients, all the potions he had never been able to brew before because there was no way you could get this shit in Chicago without fraternizing with some highly questionable individuals.  
  
He was half tempted to take some of the bottles home with him, but for once the idea of pilfering something that didn’t belong to him made his skin crawl. So he moved on, his flashlight sweeping over to a podium in the corner, a leather bound book resting unopened.

There were two white candles on each side of the podium, the melted wax hardened on the floor and down the stands. The book looked immaculate, not a single speck of dust or debris dirtying the cover. It was pristine, like someone had just left it here that day and a chill ran up Mickey’s spine because of how out of place it looked.  
  
He reached forward, his hand hovering over the book, a light sweat breaking out on his forehead, his breathing erratic and harried. He took a deep inhale through his nose and exhaled through his mouth, and when the final push of air left his lungs the flashlight shut off, flickering out like a dying flame.  
  
“Fuck,” Mickey whispered, rapidly pushing the button on the flashlight, hitting the thing against his palm to try and jolt it back to life. “Fuck,” he whispered again when his efforts were fruitless. _Batteries, right, there were spare batteries in the backpack_ he thought.  
  
He shimmied the bag off of one shoulder and swung it in front of him, his hands shaking as he pulled open the zipper. He searched blindly for the batteries, getting more and more pissed off when he couldn’t find him, cursing Ian for being so fucking prepared and managing to jam pack so much fucking shit into this little bag.  
  
Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind him and Mickey spun around, eyes scanning the dark frantically looking for any tiny movement he could possibly see.  
  
“Hello?” He whispered, cursing himself for copying every single goddamn horror movie idiot he always yelled at on screen. What the fuck did he get himself into? Why did he come into this dark abandoned house in the middle of the fucking woods and expect to come out unscatched? Fucking idiot.  
  
There was a suddenly a strong wind blowing through the room, the sound of pages flipping rapidly in the gale. The room grew bright again, the candles suddenly lit allowing the flames to illuminate the dark of the room. His eyes adjusted, still panicked and alert, but there was no one here.  
  
He was alone.  
  
But he could _feel_ something, a presence that wasn’t here before.  
  
He turned around, heart in his throat and stared at the candles, the flames dancing in the iris of  his wide eyes. The book was open, it’s pages withered and torn, black ink scrawled in messy jumbles begging Mickey to come forward and read its wisdom.

Mickey looked at the book with wide eyes, hand reaching out, intent on touching the page open before him. But he hesitated again, hand hovering above the book. He felt the power wafting off of it in waves, pulsing through his hand and all the way down to his toes. He pulled his hand back like he had been burned, fearful of what would happen if he touched it without permission.  
  
He squinted his eyes to read the barely legible handwriting, the old ink fading into the course pages from years of use. It looked like it was written in a different language and Mickey was half tempted to say it was Ukrainian, he remembered his mother writing in her foreign tongue from time to time and the letters looking exactly like these.  
  
Nadezhda had never taught any of her children her foreign language, Terry adamant that his kids would speak English and only fucking English because they lived in America goddamnit and he didn’t want them speaking that fucking commie shit.  
  
But Mickey found that he could read this book like he had spent his whole goddamn life speaking and reading Ukrainian and it was the most wonderful fucking feeling. He read the words on the paper, a Spirit Summoning Spell laid right out in front of him and he knew what he had to do, he knew who had opened this book for him and he smiled a beautiful crooked smile as he felt tears start to prick his eyes.  
  
He breathed deep, eyes closing as he took a few minutes to calm down before performing the spell so his mind wasn’t a mess of fear and elation. He needed to focus, didn’t want to fuck this up, he felt like he only had one goddamn chance to get this right and he wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers.  
  
He started picturing his mother as he remembered her in her shining moments, memories of them together down in the basement, happy and laughing and _safe_ flooding his mind. Him sitting on her lap, digging in the dirt while she whispered directions and praises into his ear. Him and Mandy standing on the kitchen chairs while she showed them how to make pierogies. These beautiful memories were few and far between, dark and twisted times trying to infiltrate his visions, attempting to dirty his pure thoughts and he beat those visions away with a violent shake of his head.  
  
He pictured her smiling and radiant, happy and whole, the love for her children overflowing and abundant and rejected any image of her with bruises and tears in her eyes that tried to block his focus. Pictured her in moments where her magic was strong, at its peak and she relished in her connection to the Earth.  
  
Once he felt like he was ready he opened his eyes again and silently read the spell to himself before taking another deep breath and letting the ancient and foreign words slip past his trembling lips.  
  
“Spirits of the night, I beseech thee. Find favor with mine call and summons, on the seven winds I beg thee travel, and greet me in mine presence. For a speaking of things that need bespoke, From this moment hence, thy powers do I wish invoke, for things that need be done.”  
  
He closed his eyes again, patiently waiting for the result. He felt a light breeze again and knew that the candles went out with it, the red he saw behind his eyelids once again turning to a pitch black as the flame was extinguished. But he wasn’t scared, he wasn’t scared at all.  
  
And then he heard it, that same voice he heard whispered in the wind last night but spoken with a sharp clarity and he knew she was right here in this room with him.  
  
“My little sunflower…”  
  
Mickey fell to his knees, tears leaking out of his still closed eyes. “Mama?” he asked, voice choked and thick as he swallowed around the lump in his throat. He felt something warm brush his cheek, wiping his tears away, but it was quick, the fleeting touch gone just as quickly as it came.  
  
“Yes, Mikhailo. Open your eyes my baby,” she said, that thick accent Ukrainian accent still as strong as it ever was.  
  
Mickey did, but when he opened his eyes again it was bright in the room like the sun was shining through a nonexistent window. Everything looked dusty, like there was a film placed over his eyes to make it look like he was viewing a vintage movie. The room even looked different, it didn’t look old and abandoned like before, it was now clean and bursting with life, everything immaculate and vibrant, not an ounce of decay in sight.  
  
His Mama was standing right in the middle of the room, a dull glow radiating from her, white dress flowing, her hair as dark and long as the day she died, the tresses straight and framing her beautiful face, eyes bright blue and twinkling, looking directly into Mickey’s own. She smiled wide, cheeks dimpling like Mickey’s does when he smiles like that.  
  
“Oh my beautiful boy I am so happy you are here,” she said softly, voice full of affection.  
  
“Mama,” was all he could manage to say, a fresh wave of tears coming to his eyes. His face felt hot, chest tight as he held back the sobs that were desperately trying to overtake him.

She chuckled warmly, that fond look still on her face, a tear or two leaking out of her blue eyes as well. She held her hand out towards him, welcoming. “Come my child, I have so much to show you and so little time,” she said.  
  
Mickey reached up and laid his hand in her palm, and to his surprise she felt _real._ Her skin was soft and warm, their hands linking as naturally as the leaves were falling outside. A current passed through them, their magic jumping for joy at being linked with its own kind for the first time in a long time. She helped him up off the ground, reaching forward to cup his cheek again, her own green thumb swiping at the tears still leaking uninhibited down Mickey’s face.  
  
“My how you’ve grown!” she said with a bright smile and Mickey just barked out a quick laugh before he dove to envelop her in a tight hug, arms looping around her snugly and wishing that he never had to let go.  
  
“I miss you so fucking much,” he whispered into her shoulder, words choppy with emotion. She shushed him, hand reaching up to card through the hair on the back of his head. It was so soothing.  
  
“Shush my baby, I am here now. And watch your language!” she said with mock offense. Mickey has had a mouth on him practically since the day he was born, it was nothing she hadn’t heard him say before.  
  
They hugged for a few more minutes, neither of them eager to part from their loving embrace, but soon she pulled back from him, tilting his chin up with her finger. “Is alright, is alright. I miss you too, more than you know my little sunflower. But know that I’m always with you okay? I’m always right here,” and when Mickey expected her to point to his heart, she held up his hand instead, pointing to his thumb.  
  
“In your magic, in your practices, in your blood, I am always there,” she said softly, placing a gentle kiss to his thumb. “Now come! You have so much to learn,” she finished with a grin, yanking on his hand and pulling him out of the room.  
  
The rest of the house had turned bright and vibrant as well, everything homey and clean, the space lived in and not abandoned like it was a few minutes ago. It smelled like something was cooking, the flames on the stove heating up a pot that definitely wasn’t there before.  
  
“Do you live here?” he asked.  
  
“Oh yes! Was my childhood home, no better place to spend the afterlife,” she replied and Mickey found himself agreeing. He would rather die twice than spend eternity haunting his childhood home, but this place was nothing like the house on Trumbull.  
  
She kept pulling his hand, leading him out of the open door and into the yard. The barn wasn’t dilapidated at all, the roof no longer caved in, a goat bleating loudly behind the fence, pigs rooting through the grass for some snacks, chickens clucking in their pen.  
  
The season seemed to have changed too, Mickey getting transported to what felt like the end of August. The sun was sitting up high in the sky, bright and hot, piercing through the fully green canopy, the grass was luscious and soft beneath his still bare feet.

“Am I dreaming?” Mickey asked, his brow furrowing as he took in the area around him, everything was alive and thriving, there wasn’t a sign of atrophy in sight.  
  
“No, my love. Just visiting,” Nadezhda said with a coy smile.  
  
“Visiting,” Mickey said as he nodded his head, letting the information soak in, eyes still wide as he looked around, “visiting when, exactly?” he knew wherever he was...it wasn’t the present day.  
  
Nadezhda laughed and squeezed his hand one more time before letting go. She walked away from him, crouching down to scratch the ears of a calico cat sleeping underneath a tree, bony knees poking out of her dress. “You were always so smart and observant, I see that has not changed,” she said fondly, smiling down at the cat as it purred and flipped over onto its back, requesting tummy scratches. “Is August of 1994, the best time of my life,” she told him with a bright grin, looking over at him with expectant eyes.  
  
“That’s--that’s when I was born,” he said softly.  
  
She laughed as she stood up, walking closer to him again, dress billowing behind her. The sun seemed to follow her wherever she went, always beaming down on her like a spotlight, like she was something so special the rays wouldn’t dare to not illuminate her at all times.  
  
“Yes, my dear. As I said, best time of my life,” she reiterated with a beaming smile and Mickey couldn’t stop himself from smiling back.  
  
He slipped the backpack off his shoulder, the heavy bag making a dull thump as it landed in the well manicured grass. He spun in a circle, observing his surroundings again, the heat of late summer seeping into his autumn chilled bones.  
  
“Am I, am I _really_ here?” he asked. He could be in a trance, could be under a very powerful spell, he very well could be fucking hallucinating this whole thing.  
  
“Yes, you are really here. Here with me, finally,” she said softly, her voice as melodic as the wind chimes in the distance. “I have present for you! Come, come, I show you where I keep it!” she beckoned, waving her hand for him to follow.  
  
They walked around the house and down a small path that cut through the woods. It was so bright and peaceful, everything still looking like Mickey was viewing it through a lens, slightly blurred, the edges softened. Mickey saw that there was small a clearing up ahead, pops of pink showing through all the green but he wasn’t close enough to make out what it was. He kept watching his mother rapturously, the light still following her and he found that he really couldn’t stop staring, afraid that if he lost sight of her for even a second she would disappear again.  
  
She gazed back every so often, smiling when she saw that he was still following her. They walked under an archway that was made from twisted and bent vines, the bright leaves sticking out and waving in what looked like a hello, Nadezhda waving back to the guardians of the garden as she walked into the center.  
  
She came to a stop, Mickey pausing directly next to her. She swept her arm out like Vanna White, showcasing the hundreds of bleeding hearts that were popping up from the ground that Mickey had just noticed for the first time, his attention stuck on his mother. There was so many of them, had to have been hundreds of plants thriving in this small clearing. It was difficult to tell where one plant stopped and another one began, all of them growing together into one giant flourishing bush.  
  
“What is this place?” Mickey asked in wonder, eyes cloudy with tears, like he already knew the answer.  
  
“Is where I come to remember you, keep you close,” she said softly as she walked into the bushes, fingers trailing gently over the supple buds, the plants seemingly leaning closer to soak up the warmth and love she emanated. “When I died, your power came with me, kept me company, kept me warm, helped me remember,” she paused, grinning down at the vine that was trying to climb up her forearm.  
  
“The only thing it let me do was grow these plants. So, whenever I missed you, whenever I felt you hurting or crying or upset, I come out here and grow a plant for you, use your magic, hoping it would help you. I know how much you love bleeding hearts,” she said and looked over at him with a serene smile, “have not had to plant one in months.”  
  
Mickey flushed, embarrassed suddenly. She knew, she fucking _knew_ .  
  
She kept walking around the bushes, her hands grazing over the vibrant leaves and buds, her dress not getting caught in any of the brambles or twigs. “You planted something during the Spring Equinox, no?” she asked with a sly smile.  
  
“Yeah, I uh, I planted a few things, just some vegetables and stuff,” Mickey replied, eyebrows creased in question.  
  
She laughed, soft yet boisterous, and Mickey’s heart swelled in his chest. God, he missed her so fucking much.  
  
“Oh my boy, you make the same face! The same face!” she said, shaking her head as she continued to laugh. She bent down until only her head was poking above the plants, shoulders moving like she was digging through the dirt.  
  
“Spring is time to plant intentions and wishes, Autumn is time we harvest rewards,” she said, her gaze steady on the ground as she continued digging. “You planted two things in Spring. One of those things you harvested last night,” she said, looking at him with a knowing grin.  
  
Mickey’s eyes flew wide. What the fuck, was she _spying_ on him and Ian? Did she see them fucking last night? Gross! This was even worse than Mandy walking in on him jacking it when he was sixteen.  
  
“The other thing, I harvest for you right now,” she said, either ignorant to Mickey’s rapidly declining composure or just choosing to ignore it.  
  
She stood up, something bright green glowing in her closed fist. She walked closer to him until they were standing toe to toe, she was only an inch or two shorter than him and he longed to reach out and embrace her again, he missed her warmth already.  
  
“What--what are you talking about?” he asked. He wasn’t playing dumb intentionally, he only planted one thing on the roof that day that wasn’t a vegetable. He wanted his fucking thumb back, he wanted that power to pulse through his body once again, he wanted to harness that connection with the Earth, wanted to relish in the _one thing_ that made him something fucking special in this world. Mickey’s heart started beating rapidly behind his ribcage, his thumb starting to throb with the memory of that power, with the anticipation of something more.  
  
She grinned, shaking her head at her son. “Love, my dear. You planted _love_ in the Spring. Maybe wasn’t done on purpose, but you did it anyway, your magic knew what was in your heart. Magic always listens to the heart,” she said, placing her empty palm flat on his chest, his heart beating rapidly against her hand. “His name is Ian, no?” she said, grinning up at him softly.  
  
Mickey’s jaw fell open, his eyes wide as he stared into her twin blues that were swimming with acceptance. He swallowed thickly, silently nodding his head, willing himself to keep his fucking cool under her loving gaze.  
  
She didn’t care, she didn’t fucking care that he was gay.  
  
“He treat you well?” she asked, her brow creasing in what Mickey could only assume was parental protection mode. He hadn’t seen that look in a long, long fucking time, like even though Ian was unattainable on another plane of existence, she would find a way to hurt him if he ever hurt Mickey.  
  
Mickey grinned and reached up to clutch onto the hand on his chest, his fingers curling around her own as he held her hand there, anchoring him. “He’s amazing,” he said softly, eyes not wavering from his mothers.  
  
She beamed up at him, patting him on the chest twice before backing away. “Good, I am glad. You deserve it more than anyone,” she finished softly but definitively, her tone leaving no room for doubt or argument.  
  
For the first time in his life, Mickey felt like he really did deserve it, he really did deserve to be loved like that, he just needed someone to reinforce that idea. He always felt like he was on borrowed time with Ian, like he stole something that didn’t belong to him and that he too would soon abandon him like his green thumb did, like everyone always fucking did, taking what little life he had left with him. He felt his eyes tearing up again, because fuck he _did_ deserve it. He didn’t steal it, it was _his._ He earned it. Shit, he’s such a fucking softie.  
  
“Now!” she said loudly, her excitement palpable and breaking through Mickey’s spiraling thoughts, “I give you other thing you planted, yes?” she eagerly asked.  
  
“Uhh, sure,” Mickey replied with a shrug.  
  
She laughed again and Mickey’s eyes were drawn to her brightly glowing hand. “I took something from you the day I died, and I am sorry, I did not mean to. Is time you get it back, is yours afterall.”  
  
She reached forward and grabbed Mickey’s wrist with her unoccupied hand, turning his hand so his palm was facing the sky, green thumb pointing to the west. She rubbed her own green thumb against his soft palm in concentric circles, mumbling something under her breath.  
  
“This will sting a little but do not worry my child, is worth it,” she said, looking at him in the eye one more time, like she was looking for his approval.  
  
She apparently found what she was looking for and she opened her other hand, the ball of light pulsating, casting a strong green glow on her face. The light seemed to take over the whole garden, swallowing up the bright yellow light that followed his Mama around until everything was just fucking green, glowing like club lights in a dark room.  
  
She turned her hand upside down, the ball hovering freely in the space between their hands. Mickey could feel the heat radiating from it right before she slapped his open palm like the most aggressive high five he had ever received. He felt the sting immediately, hissing through his teeth as the light felt like it was burning through his skin. She backed away, hands falling away from Mickey’s own, but Mickey kept his hand open, staring at it as he gasped.  
  
The light grew dimmer and dimmer as it soaked through the skin of his palm and zipped up his arm. Mickey jolted, the charge running through his body and shocking his system. The green light ran through his body like veins, slowly running up his arm, the light glowing underneath his skin, climbing higher and higher like vines on a brick wall. His thumb was fucking throbbing but for once the throbbing wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just pulsing and pulsing until it was glowing just as bright as it did when he was a kid.  
  
It was over so quick, the light dimming but never disappearing, the throb dissipating to a dull ache. His thumb was green again, _fully_ bright green, alive and working, not the dull lifeless moss color it had been for years. Emerald lines leaked down the skin of his hand from his thumb, looking like soft strokes of paint from a thin brush, covering the back of his hand and curling around his wrist, trailing up his arm to where it stopped right below his elbow.  
  
“Holy shit,” he gasped, flexing his hand once or twice, seeing the delicate vines now permanently etched into his skin move with the action.  
  
Nadezhda laughed, wiped her cheeks of some errant tears and said, “watch your language,” softly through her proud grin.  
  
Mickey lurched forward and enveloped her in a tight hug, her arms coming up to wrap around him as well, hugging him back just as fiercely.  
  
“Is yours again. Use it, nurture it, cherish it,” she whispered into his ear.  
  
He sniffed and nodded his head, “I will.”  
  
They stood embracing for a little while longer before they backed away. She reached down and lifted his hand up, his thumb glowing in her dark pupils. She kissed his thumb gently and Mickey grinned, her matching smile just as radiant as always. She lowered his hand but didn’t relinquish her hold. She examined his tattoos, tongue clicking in disapproval.  
  
“Such harsh words for such sweet boy,” she said sadly, her fingers delicately tracing over the dark ink. Mickey ripped his hands away from her in shame, shoving them deep into his pockets.  
  
But she just smiled and reached up to cup his cheek. “Is okay, now come,” she directed and moved away from the bleeding heart garden, under the twisted archway and back towards her home.  
  
They spent hours after that just talking and laughing, crying and reminiscing. She made them lunch and Mickey almost melted into the chair in her warm welcoming kitchen as he tasted her pierogies for the first time since he was nine years old. They even went and explored the forest, gathering materials and playfully splashing through a stream, Nadezhda showing him a few tricks to easily catch fish and frogs. Animals flocked to her like a leader, deers and rabbits coming up to say hello, birds flying around happily and Mickey was struck with the realization that his mother was Snow fucking White minus the dwarves and poison apple.  
  
When they were back relaxing in the damp cool of her house, she showed him how to use his thumb properly. She showed him how to control the power that coursed through him and use it with pointed intent instead of the reckless growths he produced as a child, and soon a fully bloomed peony sprouted from the middle of the wood table with just one brush of Mickey’s newly illuminated thumb. She also showed him how to dull the glow, how to make his conspicuously freaky thumb look relatively normal when it wasn’t in use, Mickey was grateful for that little trick.  
  
It was indescribable, what he was feeling. None of the usual words would measure up to the absolute fucking joy that was ripping through his body, emanating from that green thumb. He felt _whole_ , truly and fully fucking whole for the first time in his short life and he couldn’t wait to show Ian all his new tricks, to share his joy and happiness with his boyfriend, a grin coming to his face when he thought of all the foreign and rare plants he could now grow for Ian to examine and study and fully geek out over.  
  
“How is your sister?” she asked with trepidation after one of her teaching moments about ritual techniques petered out.  
  
Mickey sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, knowing he was going to get the reprimand of a lifetime for this one. “I uh--I don’t know,” he said, every ounce of shame he felt about not reaching out to Mandy leaking into his words.  
  
Nadezhda nodded and looked down at her hands, picking at the side of her thumb like Mickey often does. “She misses you,” she said softly.  
  
Mickey nodded. He missed her too.  
  
“Is hard for you, I know. She reminds you of me, no?” she asked, a sad smile on her face, the look in her eyes matching the somber tone in her voice.  
  
“Yeah,” Mickey breathed out.  
  
But it was more than that. Yeah, Mandy looked like their mother, but so did he. Mandy represented everything he fucking hated about himself and that wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t her fault at all. But seeing her just reminded Mickey of all the fucked up shit he tried to so hard to forget about, all of his siblings reminded him of that shit. He hadn’t talked to any of them in almost two years, they were never all that close to begin with especially once their mother died, Terry made sure of that. He pit his kids against each other, made them fight and hate so there was no chance they would rise up and conspire against him to overthrow the monarchy. If anything they were all merely work associates, not fucking siblings.  
  
They were all still loyal to a fault though, a Milkovich was a Milkovich, but Mickey just couldn’t bring himself to reach out to any of them, it would sting too much.  
  
Nadezhda nodded and reached across the table for his hand, Mickey giving it over immediately. She squeezed tightly, “Is okay my love, I know growing up in that house was not easy and I am sorry for leaving you there--”  
  
Mickey cut her off before she could continue. “Don’t. Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t your fault,” he said, squeezing her hand.  
  
She choked out a wet laugh, wiping her eyes with her other hand. “Yes, yes it was my boy. My greatest failure of all was not taking you all way from _that man,”_ she spit with so much hatred, Mickey didn’t even know she was capable of that much hate. “Is my job to protect you, make sure you don’t get hurt, and he did nothing but hurt. Hurt me, hurt you, hurt all of you,” she paused and looked at Mickey so sadly he felt his heart break in two.  
  
“She needs you, your sister. She loves you and misses you and you need to reach out to her. For me, okay? Please,” she said and Mickey immediately was nodding his head. He didn’t even care that he would have to go back to that house to see Mandy, would have to trudge up all these sour and painful memories to get back to her but it was okay, he would do anything for his Mama.  
  
“Good, good, thank you,” she replied, voice a little strained. She regained her composure quickly though, the heavy moment bleeding away so they could enjoy their limited time together again. “Now!” she said, clapping her hands together, a playful grin back on her face, “tell me all about Ian.”  
  
Mickey groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Jesus, do I have to?” he asked.  
  
Nadezhda laughed. “Oh you silly, silly boy! You think I’m gonna let you leave without talking about your boyfriend,” she said _boyfriend_ in a sing song voice, eyelashes fluttering and Mickey groaned again.  
  
She got up to make some tea while Mickey started his story. He told her about how they met, about the peony incident and their time on the roof that day, about how Ian was the first person he even fucking told about his powers. He obviously skipped over the NC-17 details of their intimate moments that night, his mother didn’t need to know any of that shit. He told her about Ian’s disorder, about his family and his schoolwork and career aspirations, about how fucking supportive and amazing he was, how he was out wandering these woods somewhere while he waited for Mickey.  
  
She gasped and spun around, her dress dancing behind her. “These woods? Oh my!” she said, elated, eyes sparkling.  
  
“No!” Mickey said, pointing his finger at her with a playful smile on his face, “no, you leave him alone. He’s not meeting the spirit of my dead fucking mother, not trying to scare him more than I already have.”  
  
Vaguely, Mickey was worried about Ian. He hadn’t been able to check in for awhile, the reception on his walkie not working since he technically wasn’t in the same time as Ian. He was just hoping the redhead wasn’t riling himself up too much out there, worrying about Mickey being stuck in a ditch with a broken leg or dead in the river.  
  
She laughed and nodded her head, hands raised in a placating manner. “Is fine, I just met him on Samhain,” she finished nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders.  
  
“Wh-what?” Mickey said, watching as moved from the stove and started pouring the hot tea into his slightly chipped cup.  
  
“Samhain? Oh, or Halloween as you would call it,” she said, but not diving into any further explanation, picking her cup up and delicately taking a sip of her hot tea.  
  
“Care to elaborate?” Mickey asked with a laugh, picking his own tea cup up delicately and blowing on the hot liquid, watching as the steam disappeared for a moment then came right back.  
  
She placed her cup down threw her hands up in mock offense. “See! I knew I had so much to teach you today. Samhain my boy, the day the veil between our two worlds is very thin. You can summon me with a quick spell from that grimoire in there,” she pointed to the open door where Mickey performed the spell hours ago, “and I come to you for few hours in real time. Have meal, chat, meet boyfriend, see your sister, then come home, back here, to 1994, until next Samhain.”  
  
It all sounded so fucking simple, so normal, but Mickey’s brain was already reeling with the fact that he was not only going to have to tell Ian his dead mother was coming to dinner, but he was going to have to break the news to Mandy as well. He was going to have to sit her down and have a painfully awkward conversation about how her fuck up of a brother and their beautiful mother were fucking witches and that her spirit was coming to visit on Halloween. Fuck, he was going to need a lot of calming tea for that conversation.

Instead, all he said back to her with the utmost sincerity was, “I can’t wait.”  
  
After tea time, she took him back into that room from earlier. She started talking about the ingredients in the cabinets and what they were good for, handing things to Mickey for him to take home, Mickey stuffing them in his already overflowing backpack. She gave him some crystals and feathers and rope for cords, some suspicious looking dust and a lock of her hair, “is for summoning me during Samhain,” she replied to the distasteful look on his face.  
  
He could feel their time together coming to an end, the bright sun dimming in the sky as night was coming to swallow up the day and he supposed the time passed just like normal in this afterlife.  
  
She grabbed the grimoire, closed it and and ran her hand delicately over the worn leather front, a prideful smile on her face. She held the grimoire in front of her, handing it to him and Mickey recoiled slightly.  
  
“No,” was all he said with a shake of his head.  
  
“Yes! You no tell me what to do! I am your mother! You take this, study it, learn it,” she thrust it out to him again and he couldn’t really say no twice, not to her. He grabbed the book, holding it gently in his open palms like he was holding a bird with a broken wing.  
  
“But, you--you need this,” he whispered, looking down at the heavy book that now lay in his grip.  
  
“You need it more,” she said with a nod, that trademarked serene grin back on her face. “Is time for you to go now, my baby.”  
  
And Mickey felt the sob climbing up his throat but was powerless to stop it, it burped out of his lips, tears springing up in his eyes. “I’m not ready, I-I don’t want to,” he started, his words fumbling.  
  
“Shh,” she said, “shh,” she repeated, walking closer to him. “Is okay, we had a great day, ya? You learn a lot?” she asked, reaching up to grab onto his cheeks in what she quickly learned was an easy move to calm him down. God, what he wouldn’t give to have had that touch growing up.  
  
“I learned so fucking much. Thank you, thank you,” he said, tears leaking down his face now but he didn’t fucking care, her eyes were leaking too.  
  
“I love you, my beautiful boy, I love you so much. I can’t wait to see how much you grow, how much you learn. You are so powerful and strong, don’t let anyone take that away from you,” she said, wiping away his tears before wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug.  
  
He dropped the grimoire at his feet, hugging her back just as fiercely, squeezing almost a little too hard. He didn’t want to let go, not now, not ever. He dug his nose into her shoulder, inhaled deeply because her scent was comforting and familiar and he wanted to lock this feeling into his chest for the rest of eternity.  
  
“I love you too,” he whispered and the last thing he felt from her was a soft placed kiss to his wet cheek.

He heard a popping noise, his bare feet hitting the ground hard as he fell with an _oomph,_ falling back on his ass from the impact.  
  
He was back in the present, back in the dirty, dusty, grimy old abandoned house. He couldn’t feel his mother here anymore and it made his heart ache. But it was okay, he still felt her loving warmth pulsing in his glowing thumb and her guiding words were just a book away.  
  
Immediately he scrambled for his walkie talkie, pulling it out of his backpack, yanking the antennae up violently, almost snapping the thing off before he tuned it to channel three.  
  
“Ian? Ian, you there?” he said into the walkie, the static crackling and filling the silent room with white noise.  
  
“Ian!” he said again, frantic. He was impatient, basically vibrating with excitement.  
  
“Mickey? I’m here, yeah, are you okay?” Ian asked, sounding panicked, which was fair, Mickey sounded a little erratic himself, and he still wasn’t sure how much time had passed while he was visiting.  
  
“I’m fuckin’ amazing,” he said, his smile and joy easily recognizable in his voice. “Where are you? I have so much to tell you…”

 

* * *

 

Mickey was nervous, pacing up and down the short length of his apartment, rearranging plants and crystals a thousand times so nothing looked out of place.  
  
He had cleaned the whole apartment from top to bottom, dusting corners that had never been touched before, scoured the fridge free of spilled food and drinks, even went as far as scraping the dried wax off his altar and floor. All the marijuana plants were moved into his bedroom, hidden away in the closet like a teenager hiding his habit from controlling parents. He even kept fluffing the fucking couch pillows.

Marcus had been reprimanded for the thousandth time to be fucking cool, Marcus just looking at Mickey unimpressed, his nonexistent eyebrows raised in judgement.  
  
“Jesus, will you fucking relax? You’re stressing me the fuck out and you’ve already seen her in the last twelve fuckin’ years,” Mandy said from her position curled up in the corner of the couch, absently picking at the tear in her jeans.  
  
“It’s just, she should be here by now, it’s been fifteen minutes,” Mickey replied. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette from the pack, lighting the stick with shaky hands. He had almost blown through this entire pack already and Ian had just bought it for him this morning.  
  
Mandy scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I’m assuming that travelling to another fucking dimension takes some time, even for her. So fucking relax already, shithead.”  
  
Mickey just flipped her off and looked at Ian for reassurance since his bitch of a sister wouldn’t give him any. “What if I fucked it up, didn’t perform it right and she’s just fucking waitin’, thinking I forgot about her?”  
  
“Mick,” Ian sighed, “I’m sure it’s fine.”  
  
“You don’t know that! What if--” he started but before he could properly launch into an anxiety induced ramble, he was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.  
  
Ian grinned at his now slack jawed boyfriend and stood up from the table to walk towards the door. “I think we have some company."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading and supporting this fic!! I love you! Until next time! ♥♥


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